Purple Hibiscus Extra Chapter

Eshaan Nandy '29

The following piece was composed as part of a 9^th grade English assignment that asked students to add a chapter to the novel Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.

Jaja opened his eyes, gazing around the dark room. It was a small room– smaller than the bathroom at Papa’s house. The small twin bed under him sat right next to a toilet in the corner. A shaft of moonlight filtered through the bars high up on the wall, acting as a window. Specks of dust floated in the air, illuminated by the light. An iron door with a flap stood tall opposite to the window–the only thing separating the imprisoned from the world. 

A bit disoriented, Jaja took in his surroundings. He was in jail. It was his first night imprisoned. Others may have been scared–not Jaja. The decision to be taken in lieu of Mama was the right thing to do, Jaja thought to himself. Just as Obiora would have done for his family, Jaja did for his own. It was the only way to protect them.  “It was the only way,” Jaja repeated, this time aloud. 

A thought suddenly slithered into Jaja’s mind. Why must Mama stay out of jail? She had not protected Kambili and Jaja, even when Papa was alive. How would she protect Kambili now, without me? Mama poisoned Papa, and while her actions unshackled me, Kambili and her from Papa’s iron grasp, she also placed me in jail. Papa is gone; Mama is free; I am not. 

Mama should have gone to jail, Jaja thought. There were other ways to escape Papa, ones that did not end with her son, the only person who would effectively protect Kambili in ja—

“What did you say?” A voice drifted through the door, interrupting Jaja’s whirlwind of thoughts. It was a guard, and by the subtle rasp in his voice, Jaja could immediately tell the man was elderly. “What did you say?” the man repeated, speaking English with a rather strange accent. Jaja realized he had begun spiralling out loud. 

“It’s nothing,” Jaja responded. 

“What’s a young man like you doing here?” he inquired.  

Jaja didn’t respond. The man repeated the question, this time, in Igbo. It must have been his mother tongue. After the man repeated the question a third time, Jaja, not wanting to be rude, began to speak. He explained everything: Papa’s abuse, Kambili’s silence, Aunty Ifeoma’s freedom, and Mama’s actions, ending with how Jaja had come to be imprisoned. The guard listened, occasionally asking questions, but silent for the most part. It felt good to get it all out, the pent up frustration, the anger, the sadness and the pain. As Jaja released his final word, he felt lighter than before.

After a few moments, the guard asked, “Do you blame Mama for your being here?”

Jaja began to say no, but hesitated. That wasn’t true. The thoughts and feelings returned. Mama should be here, not me. I would have protected Kambili, while she paid for her crimes. She had other ways out, to escape Papa, but she poisoned him, and she should pay. Jaja did blame Mama; he was sure of it now. She was not the sole reason Jaja was in jail– Papa obviously played a part. But the blame was still partly hers. Jaja voiced these thoughts to the guard with a tone of finality: “Yes, I do blame her. It’s her and Papa’s fault I’m here. I wouldn’t be here without her. She should have been here. It’s her fault.”

The guard left. Jaja shut his eyes and rested. The storm of thoughts that raged inside him began to settle. 

The next morning, he was startled by sudden noise. The elderly guard banged on Jaja’s door, hollering, “Wake up! You have a visitor! She’s waiting in the visiting room!” 

She doesn’t get the privilege of seeing me. I should be out there, taking care of Kambili, but instead I’m here, he thought to himself. He decided to stay in his cell, reflecting on this decision, but not regretting it. Just like a storm abates, Jaja’s thoughts had fully calmed, leaving resentment for Mama. As the guard walked away, he didn’t speak. Jaja could imagine him shaking his head as he tread over the stone brick floor. 

A few hours later, the guard returned. The visitor left, Jaja thought.

“She was saddened by your absence,” the guard told him, his frail voice tinted with disappointment. 

“Serves her right,” Jaja retorted. 

“Your sister waited a long time.”