Ghostroots undulates across its twelve-story collection; some stories are startling and rolling as soon as they begin, and others slow-burning to the end.
By Sybil Fekurumoh
When I think of the surreal, I often imagine a fantastical realm that is either animated or is so completely rid of colour that it becomes grim, but in any case, it is obvious to an observer that what is in focus is merely imagined. And then there’s ‘Pemi Aguda’s debut short story collection, Ghostroots, which finely melds everydayness with the preternatural, all within the landscape of Nigerian society — especially its beliefs and superstitions — that one is conditioned to believe that the events must have happened or is likely to.
Aguda undulates across the twelve-story collection; some stories are startling and rolling as soon as they begin, and others slow-burning till the end. Across each story, there is a want — mostly for agency — especially for its female characters, to which the collection is replete, that the book almost passes as femme-centric. There’s also a longing: to forgive, to be free from guilt, to let go, or simply to be believed.
Right off the bat in Ghostroots, we get a sense of the collection’s charge, meeting women who break away or at least long to break away from convention, even if only for a moment. Across stories, there are women who defy the gentile stereotype, even when they resign to their situations; there are unforgiving women, conniving women, sad women, rebelling women, and apathetic women.
In “Manifest”, the first story in Ghostroots, Aguda explores reincarnation as an entity takes on its true form in the present. Here, there is a jolting experience where we meet the first of many women in the collection — one who is wicked just for the sake of it. Reincarnation is again explored in “Things Boys Do”, which comes later in the collection, where three new fathers must reflect on an all-but-forgotten past that now haunts them in the form of their newborns. But despite the chill that holds readers in both stories, there is a contrast.
Both acknowledge the presence of evil and/or wrongdoing (as most stories in the collection do). In “Manifest”, however, evil exists not to contradict good, not needing an explanation, but simply because it can, and ultimately not needing to be changed, while “Things Boys Do” tethers towards the didactic, where actions have consequences.
We witness again this action and result in the fourth story, “The Hollow”, as a vengeful house protects the women in the household, snatching away abusive men or any trace of it. In a society like Nigeria, where belief in juju and supernatural justice is ingrained, the inspiration is clear — these are stories with no room for forgiveness or mercy, where retribution is swift and final.
The second story, “Breastmilk”, which has now been shortlisted for the 2024 Caine Short Story Prize, is perhaps the one story that feels the most mundane in the collection. It is neither eerie nor spectacular that I first feel misled. But on further introspection, one realises that the supernatural only moves the story, allowing other elements to shine, as a mother who is having difficulty lactating her newborn must come to terms with her feelings about her husband’s infidelity, scrutinising her apathy as a reflection of a personal weakness, which is quite the opposite of her mother’s temperament.
This mother/daughter dynamic is again present in “Imagine Me Carrying You” where a daughter watches her mother slowly slip into insanity after her mother kills someone in an accident.
More women appear in “Contributions”, the shortest story in Ghostroots. This time, they are seemingly practical women in an esusu — a local, informal savings and credit cooperative — who are outwitted by a new member who joins the group. Aguda is brilliant in the way that she speculates. In some of the stories, the association between superstition and truth is palpable, in others she makes the reader doubt. For example, while in “Contributions” the author associates cooperatives with covens, in “Birdwoman”, there is a complete distancing from the belief that witches can turn into birds — a belief commonplace in Nigerian subconscious credulity.
We also see Aguda’s architectural expertise fully come alive in “The Hollow”, making the haunted house not just a vessel for living people, but a living breathing entity of its own. In “24, Alhaji Williams Street”, there are only traces of the author’s architectural sensibilities, as death looms over a street like a plague, killing off one son from each household. Again, no reason is offered for the carnage; here, death is simply inevitable.
Aguda’s imaginativeness is all the more appreciated as the collection progresses. “Girlie”, the first of my favourites in Ghostroots, comes off as though the titular character only knows sorrows, as she is trafficked by her mother to work as a maid, but is then kidnapped by an unstable market woman who considers her actions an act of love and kindness. There are three stories within this story, neither right nor wrong, and while the message about the self-sacrificing and expectations of being a Nigerian daughter is clear, the voice with which Aguda tells it appears uncertain.
Sometimes Girlie appears indeed as a naive fifteen-year-old seeing the world through the lens of the adults around her, and other times she appears all the wiser, fully made aware of her sacrifices. Interestingly, my other favourite in the collection, “Masquerade Season”, also follows a young child narration, no older than ten, who comes to possess three regal masquerades, but eventually lets them go when his mother begins to exploit their resources. The difference here is that Pauly’s childlike demeanour is ever-present and never wavers.
“The Dusk Market” bustles in colour, even when visceral, capturing the enclave that is Lagos – where all the stories are set – even with its underlying morose theme, as it follows Shalewa’s search for a certain metaphysical evening market. Although the story suffers from over-explanation — as if written for a certain audience whose hands must be held through the streets of Lagos before they can fully comprehend it. I do not quite know how to categorise, “The Wonders of the World” because it is one story I feel the most detached from, even though it gently threads religious faith and fanaticism, as a school girl with anxiety befriends a self-proclaimed prophet, Zeme.
To put it thematically, there are bodies everywhere in Ghostroots; dying bodies, such as in “Imagine Me Carrying You” and “24, Alhaji Williams Street”; floating bodies, such as in “The Wonders of the World”; flying and falling bodies like in “Birdwoman”; body parts traded, such as in “Contributions”; bodies stuffed in corners — “The Hollow” — and birthing bodies, “Breastmilk” and “Things Boys Do”. I must point out, too, that birthing is written as though the author has a fascination for the process. In all, Aguda’s characters are at a crossroads where their lives are to be changed by their actions or inactions, bearing the consequences for any.
Some stories in the collection are more paranormal than one would anticipate, and others tilt towards the mundane as if not quite speculative enough, conflating the physical with the metaphysical. This ultimately gives Ghostroots some verisimilitude, relaying the wonders and travails while tugging conversations about female agency as is peculiar to Nigerian society.
Sybil Fekurumoh is a writer and editor, with an interest in African lifestyle, pop culture, policies, and technology. She’s passionate about books, film, literature, agriculture, and SDG 4 — Quality Education. Connect with her on Twitter and Instagram at @toqueensaber or email sybilf@afrocritik.com