Africa

The Poisonwood Bible

Gonzales, Analysa Marie
 Gonzales, Analysa Marie

Fiercely she stands. Behind her eyes, from which it rained, flashes
reflections of what once was. Her lips part and she tastes the salty
remnants of the streams that have since left but two dry trails, parting
the dust that covers her ebony skin. Her expression matches her broken
necklace, its beads strewn about the floor; and her velvet and damask
layers now barely cling to the skin that bears countless scars. Don’t be
fooled. These are not scars of battle, for she is merely the witness. Her
chains rattle beneath her as yet another sword looms overhead. She
pays it no heed for her eyes are set on her captors as she watches,
waiting. She is Africa. Fiercely she stands.
 Gonzales, Analysa Marie

Fight as they may, but freedom is the moon. They see the potential but most will never

reach it. Take, for example, the all too familiar caged bird metaphor, used extensively in Barbara

Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible. The parrot Methuselah is like so many in that he yearns to

spread his wings. Yet like most, he finds that even without a cage, there is always another force

to contain him. As extensive as the concept of captivity is within the novel, it would be unfair to

limit the definition to mere physical bounds, for Kingsolver presents a variety of additional types

of imprisonment: those which are political, social, religious, and even self-inflicted. In doing so,

she refines the meaning of freedom and the costs associated with obtaining it.

The Congolese are said to have lived like kings when the Portuguese first stumbled upon

their civilization in 1482. Yet, over the course of nearly five hundred years, they had been

reduced to slaves of the Belgians, who “cut off their hands in the rubber plantations,” (121).

Their hopes for independence, granted in 1960, were tossed aside when Patrice Lumumba was

wrongfully put behind bars and eventually beaten to death. Yet as the Price family learns, it does

not require shackles or iron bars to be confined to darkness.

The land of the Congo and its neighbors is often referred to as “The Heart of Darkness”

due to the vast unknown depths of the African continent. Ironically, its diamonds, among other

resources, seem to provide an alluring light for the Western world. As the Congolese people

quickly find, independence seems to have an oxymoronic meaning. When Mobutu is placed in

office, the Western sphere of influence broadens over the Congo, and the bloody war that results

becomes a shockwave for innocent people who are placed at the mercy of corrupt politicians.

That isn’t to say that society without politics doesn’t do the same. In Bethlehem, Georgia,

Adah experiences prejudices for her handicap. Upon the family’s arrival to Kilanga however,

Ruth May notes that “nobody stares at Adah… because they’ve all got their own handicap,” (53).

Though Adah feels a sense of acceptance there, the same cannot be said for Leah, who attempts
 Gonzales, Analysa Marie

to bypass gender limitations of hunting; and in turn receives bitter opposition from both the

elders of the tribe, as well as her own father. As if sexism doesn’t prove a harsh enough trial,

Leah also experiences extreme racism, when, later in the midst of war, she must often hide due to

the color of her skin. Unfortunately for many characters, society no longer serves as a

community, but becomes the cause of struggle for those who are different.

Yet, even with society and all physical means taken out of the picture, Adah demonstrates

how captivity still ensues in religion. The first faith she explores, presents a passive view of the

concept, based off of African customs. Muntu, or the spirit of a bantu (human) is bound to a

body, which serves as a shell from which the muntu watches. As a spirit, however, they cannot

intervene. Therefore, they are bound to silence in their “safe place,” allowed only to watch. Adah

finds these beliefs far more pragmatic than Christianity, and conclusively brings about another

powerful point. Most Christians believe those who are not followers of Christ will be denied

entrance to heaven. Adah, however, sees this as unfair due to circumstances beyond human

control. “A child denied… merely for being born in the Congo, rather than, say, north Georgia…

[would mean] admission to heaven is gained by the luck of the draw,” (171). Furthermore, if this

is the case, all are bound to mere chance, or depending on beliefs, imprisoned by fate.

In any case, the downfall of the Prices would seem extremely tragic. Yet, as each account

of the story nears its conclusion, it becomes increasingly difficult to pity each character with the

realization that the majority have caused their own afflictions. Misunderstood as a misanthropist

as a teenager, Adah describes herself as an observer trapped in a corrupt world. Yet, when she

realizes she values her life as a participant, she is able to exercise her wings. In her older years,

she continues, realizing her disability is merely habitual and she can overcome that, too.

Unfortunately, she finds she will never rid herself of her cynical personality and will therefore

remain a captive to her own darkness. Likewise, darkness teems from ignorance and selfishness,
 Gonzales, Analysa Marie

which go hand in hand for many of the characters, especially Nathan and Rachel. Neither makes

attempts to understand or even respect the Congolese culture, which only alienates the people.

Yet it is Rachel who defines these characteristics as immobilizing forces. At fifty years old, she’s

still the same arrogant woman she was at fifteen. Though she claims her family holds her

captive, in reality she’s a prisoner to her own imprudence and narrow-mindedness. On the other

hand, perhaps it’s human nature to be selfish. During the hunt, the baboons run to save

themselves, ignoring the pregnant females, and suddenly they don’t seem so different from

Rachel, who saves her mirror from the ants, or Nathan, who decides to save his pride. Plagued by

guilt of what he views as cowardice in his past, he vies to prove himself in the eyes of God.

Humble as this may seem, he chooses to do so at the expense of his family, through violent and

verbal abuse, acting the patriarch rather than the father. To that extent, he becomes a captive to

his own guilt, which Orleanna notes on numerous occasions.

Ironically, Orleanna also dwells in the past, blaming Nathan and his inability to cope,

when, she too, suffocates in her own contrition. Though arguably hypocritical, one major

difference sets her apart from all others. Orleanna is the only one who achieves freedom; ridding

herself of the pestilent disease known as regret. The cure, she finds, is not easily obtained, but is

the purest of all. Ultimately through Ruth May, Orleanna discovers the light in forgiveness.

In his famous speech, Lumumba declared tears, fire, and blood were all noble in a just

struggle. However, even if freedom is obtained through violence, the scars of degradation, pain,

and contempt will always remain for the past must never be forgotten. It is unfortunate that in the

struggle for freedom, sacrifices must often be made for people to come to this realization. Yet it

is the end result that all should look forward to: a lighter future with the darkness behind them.