WAEC SSCE - Literature In English - 2016 (Prose)

Akọwa Nkọwa

In Amma Darko's Faceless, the relationship between Nii Kpakpo and Maa Tsuru is presented as an exploitative and destructive union that dramatises the vulnerability of a poor, uneducated woman who depends on men for survival. Their bond is central to the collapse of Maa Tsuru's home and to the tragedy that overtakes her children, especially Baby T and Fofo.

An exploitative rather than loving partnership. Nii Kpakpo becomes Maa Tsuru's man after her first partner, Kwei, abandons her. Far from offering her security, he attaches himself to a household he does not intend to support. He moves in, enjoys the comfort of a woman's home, and yet contributes almost nothing to the upkeep of the family. The relationship is therefore one-sided: Maa Tsuru gives affection and shelter, while Nii Kpakpo takes.

His irresponsibility deepens her poverty. Instead of easing Maa Tsuru's burdens, Nii Kpakpo increases them. He fathers additional children by her without any means or will to provide for them, so the household sinks further into want. His idleness and unreliability leave Maa Tsuru overwhelmed, and it is out of this desperation that the fateful decisions concerning Baby T are taken. In this way the relationship becomes a direct link in the chain of events that leads to Baby T being pushed out of the home and eventually into prostitution and death.

Manipulation and Maa Tsuru's helplessness. Darko uses the relationship to expose how a woman crippled by poverty, superstition (the belief that she is cursed) and low self-esteem clings to any man for validation. Nii Kpakpo exploits this weakness. Maa Tsuru's inability to stand up to him, to demand responsibility, or to protect her daughter reveals both her tragic helplessness and the wider social failure that the novel condemns.

Thematic significance. The Nii Kpakpo and Maa Tsuru relationship enlarges the novel's central concerns: the abuse and neglect of women, irresponsible fatherhood, the feminisation of poverty, and the way defenceless children become the ultimate victims of dysfunctional homes. Their union is not romantic but symptomatic of a broken society in which weak, dependent women are preyed upon and children are left faceless and unprotected.

In conclusion, the relationship between Nii Kpakpo and Maa Tsuru is one of exploitation, irresponsibility and doomed dependence. It is through this union that Darko drives home her indictment of male irresponsibility and the tragic cost it imposes on women and children.

Akọwa Nkọwa

Boris A. Max, the communist lawyer who defends Bigger Thomas in Richard Wright's Native Son, holds a clear and challenging attitude towards racial relations. He sees racism not as an accident of individual prejudice but as a systemic injustice that oppresses black Americans and corrupts the whole society.

Racism as a social and economic system. Max argues that the plight of black people is rooted in structures of power, poverty and exclusion. In his long courtroom address he contends that generations of oppression, segregation and denial of opportunity have created the conditions that produce men like Bigger. Racial relations, for Max, are relations of domination and fear that damage oppressor and oppressed alike.

Sympathy and understanding towards Bigger. Unlike the hostile white world around him, Max makes a genuine effort to understand Bigger as a human being. He listens to him, questions him, and tries to grasp the fear and hatred that shaped his life. Through this, he treats Bigger with a dignity that white society has always denied him, and he comes to see the accused as a symbol of countless oppressed lives.

A plea for social responsibility. Max's defence is essentially a plea that society examine its own guilt. He insists that to execute Bigger without acknowledging the racism that created him is to evade the real problem. He calls for recognition of black humanity and for change in the unjust conditions that breed violence and despair.

Limitations of his understanding. Yet Wright suggests that even Max does not fully comprehend Bigger. When Bigger finally accepts responsibility for his own life and finds a strange peace in it, Max recoils, unable to follow him into that awareness. This shows that Max's largely ideological view of race, though sympathetic, cannot wholly reach the inner reality of the man he defends.

Significance. Max functions as the novel's voice of social conscience. Through him Wright articulates the argument that American racial relations are diseased at the root and that justice requires transforming the society, not merely punishing its victims.

In conclusion, Max's attitude towards racial relations is one of critical understanding and protest. He views racism as a destructive social system, extends rare human sympathy to Bigger, and demands that society confront its complicity, even if his own grasp of Bigger's humanity remains ultimately incomplete.

Akọwa Nkọwa

Bayo Adebowale's narrative style in Lonely Days is distinguished by its rootedness in Yoruba oral tradition, its skilful handling of time through flashback, and its blend of realism with folklore. These techniques allow the novelist to tell the story of the widow Yaremi with both intimacy and cultural depth.

Third-person narration with deep interiority. Adebowale employs an omniscient third-person narrator who nonetheless enters closely into Yaremi's thoughts and feelings. This lets the reader share her grief, her memories and her reflections, making her loneliness immediate and moving while still allowing the narrator to comment on the customs of Kufi.

Extensive use of flashback. The narrative moves fluidly between present and past. Through flashbacks Yaremi relives her courtship, her married life with Ajayi and earlier village events. This non-linear structure deepens characterisation and heightens the contrast between a rich past and a desolate present, so that memory itself becomes a narrative device.

Proverbs, folklore and oral resources. The style is saturated with Yoruba proverbs, songs, riddles and folktales. These oral elements lend the prose a distinctly African rhythm, root the story in its cultural setting, and carry moral and philosophical weight. They also give voice to communal wisdom about life, death, marriage and widowhood.

Descriptive realism and setting. Adebowale paints the rural world of Kufi with careful, realistic detail, from farm work to village gatherings to mourning rituals. This vivid setting grounds the emotional drama in a recognisable social reality and makes the criticism of widowhood customs more forceful.

Simple, evocative language and symbolism. The language is largely simple and accessible, yet charged with feeling and with symbols drawn from nature and daily life. This economy suits the quiet, meditative mood of a novel centred on solitude and endurance.

Effect and significance. Together these techniques create a work that is at once a personal portrait of a grieving woman and a broad commentary on tradition and gender. The oral texture universalises Yaremi's experience within her community, the flashbacks give psychological depth, and the realism sharpens the social critique.

In conclusion, Adebowale's narrative style, blending omniscient narration, flashback, oral tradition and vivid realism, is admirably suited to a story of widowhood and loneliness, giving Lonely Days both emotional power and cultural authenticity.

Akọwa Nkọwa

Richard Wright's Native Son invites the reader to see Bigger Thomas not simply as a criminal by nature but as the product of a racist and oppressive society. While Bigger bears personal responsibility for his acts, the novel builds a powerful case that the environment of segregated, poverty-stricken Chicago shapes him into a murderer.

Poverty and confinement. From the opening scene, Bigger's world is one of deprivation: a single cramped room shared by the whole family, rats, unemployment and hopelessness. The white-controlled economy denies black people decent housing, education and opportunity. Boxed into the Black Belt, Bigger grows up with fear, shame and suppressed rage, the raw materials of violence.

Fear as a conditioned response. Bigger's first killing, the death of Mary Dalton, is not premeditated. He smothers her in panic, terrified of being discovered in a white girl's bedroom, knowing that a black man found there would be presumed guilty of rape and lynched. It is precisely the society's racial terror, its lethal codes governing contact between black men and white women, that turns an accident into a killing. Society, in effect, writes the script for the crime.

Dehumanisation and the denial of identity. Constantly told what he may and may not do, watched, feared and despised, Bigger is stripped of a sense of full humanity. The white world offers him no legitimate outlet for ambition or self-worth. Violence becomes, paradoxically, the only act through which he feels he has created something and exercised a will of his own, a terrible measure of how completely society has crippled him.

Max's argument. Boris Max, Bigger's lawyer, makes the case explicit in the courtroom: Bigger is the creation of a system that has oppressed and excluded millions like him. His crime is the fruit of accumulated injustice, and to condemn him without condemning the society that made him is hypocrisy.

A balanced view. The novel does not wholly excuse Bigger; his second killing, of Bessie, is more deliberate, and he remains morally accountable. Yet Wright's overriding argument is sociological: individual guilt cannot be separated from the vast structures of racism, poverty and fear that produced this man.

In conclusion, the view that society makes Bigger a murderer is strongly supported by the novel. Wright presents Bigger as a native son of America, formed by its racism and inequality, so that his violence stands as an indictment not merely of one man but of the society that shaped him.

Akọwa Nkọwa

Bayo Adebowale's Lonely Days takes its very title from its central preoccupation: the theme of loneliness. Through the widow Yaremi, the novelist explores the deep isolation that follows the death of a spouse and the cruelty of the widowhood customs that intensify it.

Loneliness born of widowhood. The death of Yaremi's husband, Ajayi, plunges her into a solitary existence. Where once there was companionship, conversation and shared labour, there is now emptiness. Adebowale dwells on the quietness of her home, the absence of the man she loved, and the ache of nights spent alone. Her loneliness is emotional, physical and social all at once.

The oppression of widowhood rites deepens her isolation. The village of Kufi subjects widows to humiliating and dehumanising customs: mourning restrictions, suspicion, and pressure to be inherited by a male relative of the dead husband. These practices, rather than comforting Yaremi, cut her off further from dignity and human warmth. Her refusal to be inherited leaves her still more alone, though it also affirms her independence.

Loneliness and memory. Much of Yaremi's solitude is filled with memory. Through flashbacks she relives her courtship, marriage and the companionship of her late husband. These recollections both console and sharpen her sense of loss, for they measure the gulf between a full past and an empty present.

Communal and generational isolation. Yaremi's loneliness is not hers alone. The three other widows, Radeke, Fabo and Dedewe, share versions of the same fate, so that widowhood emerges as a collective female condition. Even the presence of children and grandchildren cannot fully fill the void left by a lost partner, underscoring that some forms of loneliness cannot be cured by company.

Thematic significance. Through this pervasive loneliness, Adebowale criticises the harsh treatment of widows in traditional society and celebrates the resilience of a woman who endures isolation with courage and self-respect. Loneliness in the novel is therefore not merely a private sorrow but a lens for social criticism and for the affirmation of female strength.

In conclusion, loneliness saturates Lonely Days as Yaremi confronts bereavement, oppressive custom and the pain of memory. Her lonely days become a testament both to the suffering imposed on widows and to the dignity with which a strong woman can bear it.

Akọwa Nkọwa

In Amma Darko's Faceless, the visit of Kabria and Vickie (Vicky) to the police station is a significant episode because it exposes the corruption, indifference and inefficiency of the institutions that ought to protect the weak, while also advancing the search for justice on behalf of the street children.

Context of the visit. Kabria, a working mother and member of the MUTE non-governmental organisation, becomes drawn into the plight of Fofo and the investigation into the murder of Baby T. The trip to the police station, undertaken in connection with these efforts, brings the respectable, middle-class world of MUTE into direct contact with the state machinery of law enforcement.

It exposes police corruption and inefficiency. The episode reveals a force that is poorly motivated, slow and susceptible to bribery. Rather than showing urgency in a case involving the death of a child, the officers display bureaucratic coldness and a tendency to demand inducements before acting. Darko uses the scene to satirise a system in which justice is bought and the poor, who cannot pay, are ignored.

It highlights the plight of street children. The visit dramatises how children like Baby T and Fofo fall through the cracks. Their cases are treated as unimportant because they are poor and voiceless. The contrast between the concern shown by MUTE and the apathy of the police underlines the novel's argument that society has abandoned its most vulnerable members.

It advances the plot and the investigation. On the level of narrative, the visit is a step in the collaborative effort of MUTE, Kabria, Sylv Po and others to uncover the truth behind Baby T's murder. It links the strands of the story together and moves the search for justice forward, even as it shows how much resistance that search must overcome.

Thematic significance. The episode reinforces central themes: institutional failure, the corruption of public officials, the marginalisation of the poor, and the need for ordinary, committed citizens and NGOs to fill the vacuum left by a failing state. It also strengthens the reader's sympathy for the street children by contrasting their suffering with official indifference.

In sum, the visit to the police station is significant because it lays bare the corruption and inefficiency of law enforcement, deepens the reader's understanding of the street children's helplessness, and drives home Darko's criticism of a society whose institutions have failed the faceless and defenceless.