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Foreign Gods, Inc. Kindle Edition
Foreign Gods, Inc., tells the story of Ike, a New York-based Nigerian cab driver who sets out to steal the statue of an ancient war deity from his home village and sell it to a New York gallery.
Ike's plan is fueled by desperation. Despite a degree in economics from a major American college, his strong accent has barred him from the corporate world. Forced to eke out a living as a cab driver, he is unable to manage the emotional and material needs of a temperamental African American bride and a widowed mother demanding financial support. When he turns to gambling, his mounting losses compound his woes.
And so he travels back to Nigeria to steal the statue, where he has to deal with old friends, family, and a mounting conflict between those in the village who worship the deity, and those who practice Christianity.
A meditation on the dreams, promises and frustrations of the immigrant life in America; the nature and impact of religious conflicts; an examination of the ways in which modern culture creates or heightens infatuation with the "exotic," including the desire to own strange objects and hanker after ineffable illusions; and an exploration of the shifting nature of memory, Foreign Gods is a brilliant work of fiction that illuminates our globally interconnected world like no other.
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherSoho Press
- Publication dateJanuary 14, 2014
- File size2943 KB
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Editorial Reviews
From Booklist
Review
A NPR Great Read of 2014
A Philadelphia Inquirer Best Book of 2014
The Root 15 Best Novels by a Black Author of 2014
A Cleveland Plain Dealer Best Books of 2014 Selection
"Razor-sharp . . . Mr. Ndibe invests his story with enough dark comedy to make Ngene an odoriferous presence in his own right, and certainly not the kind of polite exotic rarity that art collectors are used to . . . In Mr. Ndibe’s agile hands, he’s both a source of satire and an embodiment of pure terror."
—Janet Maslin, The New York Times
"A story of sweeping cultural insight and absurd comedy . . . rendered with a stoic power that moves the reader more than histrionics possibly could."
—The Washington Post
"Unforgettable . . . Ndibe seems to have a boundless ear fo' the lyrical turns of phrase of the working people of rural Nigeria . . . The wooden deity "has character, an audacious personality,' says one non-African who sees it. So does Ndibe's novel, a page-turning allegory about the globalized world."
—Los Angeles Times
"A hard look at the American dream, which seems to be receding further and further into the distance these days."
—GQ Magazine
"This is precisely the kind of novel that makes one anti-social. If you find it today, sprint home, throw away your cellphone, bolt the front door and don’t worry too much if you are not up in time for church tomorrow."
—Daily Nation (Kenya)
“We clearly have a fresh talent at work here. It is quite a while since I sensed creative promise on this level.”
—Wole Soyinka, winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature
“An entertaining, witty adventure . . . Foreign Gods, Inc. is an intelligent, satirical novel that comes highly anticipated and does not disappoint.”
—The Root
"A morality tale for our time . . . With subtle hints at moral turmoil, a gift for dark humour, and characterisation that is perceptive and neatly observed, Ndibe manages to persuade the reader to root for Ike, even as his haphazard plans begin to unravel."
—The Guardian (UK)
"Brims with warmth, vibrancy and color . . . Just about perfect."
—Paste Magazine
"Ndibe is a writer’s writer, and this book is a lesson in the art of the novel."
—New York Journal of Books
"Ndibe writes of cultural clash in a moving way that makes Ike’s march toward disaster inexorable and ineffably sad."
—Kirkus Reviews, STARRED Review
"If you’ve ever sat in the back of a cab silently—or not so silently—wondering where your cab driver is from and what his life is like (and really hasn’t everyone?) then you will be captivated by Nigerian writer Okey Ndibe’s new novel."
—Metro New York
"Wonderfully colorful . . . There's more than a touch of Poe, or perhaps The Twilight Zone, in the surreal conclusion of this story."
—The Hartford Courant
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Ikechukwu Uzondu, “Ike for short,” parked his Lincoln Continental cab at a garage that charged twelve dollars per hour. Before shutting off the engine, he looked at the car’s electronic clock. Nine forty-seven a.m.; it meant the gallery would have been open for a little less than an hour. Perfect, Ike thought, for he wished to be done transacting his business before the place started buzzing.
He walked a block and a half to 19 Vance Street. Had a small animal been wedged in his throat, his heart could not have pounded more violently.
The eave over the door bore a sign etched in black over a bluish background: foreign gods, incorporated. It was written in tiny, stylized lettering, as if intended to create a tactful anonymity. Few would stumble upon a store like this; it would be found, it seemed, only by habitués and devotees.
Across the street was a bar. Ike contemplated a quick drink or two to calm his nerves. How odd to flack for a war god while jittery.
Yet, to go in smelling of alcohol might also be a costly mistake.
The gallery door clicked, and a tanned woman walked out. A squat carved statue was clutched close to her breast, held in asuckling posture. At the curb, a gleaming black BMW pulled up. She opened the rear door and leaned in, arched backside revealing the outline of her underwear. Her black high-heeled shoes were riveted with nodes of diamond. She strapped the deity in place with the seat belt and then straightened. The car’s front door was opened from inside. She lowered herself in, and the car sped off.
Ike pulled at the gallery door—surprisingly light. A wide, sprawling space unfurled itself: gray marble floors, turquoise walls, and glass-paneled showcases. A multitude of soft, recessed lights accentuated the gallery’s dim, spectral atmosphere. In the middle of the room, slightly to the left of the door, a spiral staircase with two grille-work banisters rose to an upper floor. Ike knew from the New York magazine piece that people went upstairs only by invitation. And that those invitations went only to a small circle of long-term collectors or their designated dealers.
There was an otherworldly chill in the air. There was also a smell about the place, unsettling and hard to name. Ike froze at the edge of the run of stairs that led down to the floor of the gallery. From the elevation, he commanded a view. The space was busy but not cluttered. Clusters of short, squat showcases were interspersed with long and deep ones. Here and there, some customers peered into the glass cases or pored over catalogs.
In a matter of two, three weeks, his people’s ancient deity, Ngene, would be here, too. And it would enjoy pride of place, not on this floor, with the all-comers and nondescripts, but upstairs, in the section called Heaven. Ngene was a majestic god with a rich legend and history. How many other gods could boast of dooming Walter Stanton, that famed English missionary whose name, in the syllable-stretching mouths of the people of Utonki, became Su-tantee-ny?
The thought gave him a gutsy boost. He trotted down the steps to the floor of the gallery. Walking unhurriedly, he cast deliberate glances about him, so that an observer might mistake him for a veteran player in the rare sport where gods and sacred curios were bought and sold. He paused near the spiral staircase. A sign warned please do not ascend unless escorted. He walked on to a chesthigh showcase. A hefty wooden head stared at him from atop a rectangular stump. The face was pitched forward, like a tortoise’s head poking out of a shell. On closer inspection, Ike saw that the carved head was deformed by a chipped, flattened nose and large, bulgy eyes. Inside the case, four fluorescent puck lights washed the statue with crisscross patterns of luminescence and shadows. A fork-tongued serpent coiled itself round the statue’s neck.
There was an electronic key code for the showcase’s twin-winged door, and several perforations in the glass, small and circular, as if designed to let in and let out just enough air to keep the glum, rigid statue from suffocating. A strip tag glued to the glass cage identified the deity as C1760. Ike picked up a glossy catalog and thumbed to the C section. Each page was columned, with sections marked “inventory code,” “name,” “brief history,” and “price.” He ran his finger down the line until he saw the tag number. Then he drew his finger across to the price column: $29,655.
He flipped the pages to the catalog’s last section, marked “Heavenly Inventory.” The lowest price in the section was $171,455; the highest $1.13 million. He studied the image of one of the deities in that section. Carved from soot-black wood, it had two fused figures, one female, and the other male. The figures backed each other. The female was big breasted and boasted a swollen belly. The male figure held a hoe in one hand, a gun in the other, its grotesque phallus extending all the way to its feet. They shared the same androgynous head, turned neither left nor right but forward. A pair of deep-set eyes seemed to return Ike’s stare. It was listed for $325,630. Ike read the short italicized description: A god of the crossroads, originally from Papua New Guinea.
“Wait until they see Ngene,” he said under his breath, a flush of excitement washing over him. Surely, a legendary god of war would command a higher price than a two-faced crossroads idler.
At the thought, the catalog slipped from his hands and thudded on the floor. He hastily picked it up, glancing all around. Perhaps the gallery’s surveillance camera was beamed on him, trailing his every movement?
He moved to another showcase. He squatted, bit his lip, and peered intensely at the encased quarry, nodding like a connoisseur. From nowhere some foul whiff brushed his nose and he recoiled.
He heard a woman’s low voice and stood to look, but two showcases blocked his view.
“Have I ever—ever—been too busy for you?” a man answered in a stentorian voice.
A pair of sequined magenta shoes descended the staircase. These yielded toned calves, then sturdy thighs that disappeared beneath a tight purplish skirt, and then the tanned, tight upper body of a blonde. Then, behind her, the man appeared.
Ike recognized Mark Gruels, the owner of the gallery. He did not panic, his poise a remarkable feat, considering what was at stake. Neither the woman nor Gruels looked Ike’s way. Her right arm was around his waist, his left arm draped over her shoulder. They circled the staircase and walked down another aisle, toward the far wall.
Ike watched them but pretended to be riveted by the catalog. Gruels was a head taller than the woman, even though she looked at least five nine. Cerise pearls adorned the woman’s neck. Gruels’s groomed appearance seemed to leave some room for cultivated ruggedness. He had a full head of black hair, garnished with dots of gray. He wore a dark green down vest over a bleached green shirt, one sleeve rolled up to the elbow, the other left unrolled.
Gruels and the woman spoke inaudibly for a moment, entranced by the same object: a mammoth, snout-faced statue in a showcase.
“So?” the woman finally asked.
Gruels swayed side to side, as if in deep thought. Then he shook his head doubtfully.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Not that one,” he said in the tone of a man accustomed to confident judgments. His voice was deep, even a little gravelly. “You’re looking at a goddess. She’s definitely not a good fit. Not for you. You do better with strong male gods. You’d find her—shall I say—a bit too feisty. Too cranky.”
“She’s quite the cutie,” the woman said, leaning into Gruels.
“No question, but she’s not your type. Trust me.” He pressed her closer to him. “You don’t want a goddess that clashes with your personality. Plus, it doesn’t jibe with your other acquisitions.”
“It’s actually not for me. I’d like something amazing for my brother. And this should do.”
“Birthday?” Gruels asked.
“No, he’s never been big on birthdays. He’s just having a tough time rebounding.”
“Has he been sick?”
“No, divorced.”
“Josh?” Gruels sounded incredulous.
“Yes, darling—you know I have only the one brother.”
“He and Heather parted ways?”
“Oh, Mark, have you been living in a cave again?”
“No, really,” said Gruels. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
She turned sideways and rested her body against his. Gruels rubbed and kneaded her shoulders. Ike felt a tug in the crotch.
She related how Heather had run away with another woman, leaving Josh crushed.
Finally, Gruels said, “A man dumped by his wife for another woman deserves some spectacular gift. You can’t get better than this.” He glanced up at the deity. “This, here, is a Mayan marvel.”
“And what are you asking for her?”
“Twenty thousand—eighteen thousand for you.”
“Sir, can I help you with anything?”
Ike turned, startled. A petite woman stood behind him.
“How may I help you?” she asked again.
Her nose was pierced midridge with a toothpick-sized coppery crossbar. Her head was shaved close to the scalp. A whorl of tattoos ran all over her arms and neck.
“I came to see—”
“Mark?” she interjected.
“Mr. Gruels,” he said. Despite all his years in America, he’d never become comfortable with the idea of calling strangers by their given name. “Yes.”
Her eyes lit up. “Did you call two days ago?”
“Three. Yes.”
“I recognized that accent!” Ike stiffened at the word “accent,” and his eyes blazed. Oblivious, she continued: “Listen, Mark’s busy with a customer right now. You can wait for him right here. Unless it’s something I can help you with. My name is Stacy.”
“I’ll wait,” he said, still vexed by that reference to his accent. He turned and nearly bumped into Gruels. The gallery owner held the blond with one hand, the Mayan deity with the other.
“Mark, this gentleman wants to see you,” Stacy announced.
Letting go of the blond’s hand, Gruels seemed to whirl round to Ike.
“You want to see me?”
Not in everybody’s presence, Ike thought. “I’ll wait until you finish. With her.” He pointed at the blond.
Gruels smirked and then retook the woman’s hand. “Until I finish with her? What makes you think I want to ever be finished with her?”
Gruels laughed, and the woman followed suit, her head thrown back. Gruels whispered into her ear, released her, and circled back to Ike. “Yes, I’m listening,” he said.
Ike’s tongue felt coated. Why didn’t Gruels invite him to an
office or some secluded corner?
Gruels folded his arms. “Yes?”
“I have—”
“Yes, you have what?”
“A business proposal.”
Gruels slapped both hands, bemused. “You want to invest in my business? Great! How much are we talking here?”
Ike gave a short, awkward chuckle.
“It’s a busy morning for me,” Gruels said. “Business proposal. You’ve got to spell out what you mean. And you’ve got to do it quick.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “I have a meeting to run to—in, like, now! So?”
“I have a god I can bring,” he said.
“You have a god?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Let’s see it.”
“I’m traveling to bring it.”
“You don’t have it?”
“Not yet.”
“So what’s the point of this discussion?”
Ike swallowed hard. “I want you to buy it.”
“Buy what? I can’t buy what doesn’t exist.” Gruels glanced at Stacy, who tightened her lips and shrugged.
“It exists,” Ike cried, his voice close to combative. Then, checking
himself, he added, “It’s a powerful deity, too.”
Gruels regarded him with intense eyes. “I don’t buy stories; I buy things. You see what I mean?” He glanced at his watch again and turned sharply sideways, as if to walk away. Instead, he tarried and addressed Ike. “Bottom line, you have nothing to show me.”
“In less than three weeks, I will have it.”
“So why are we holding this discussion now? Why don’t we have it in three weeks—or whenever you’ve got something to show?”
Ike said, “It’s a god of war.”
“It could be a god of shit for all I care.” Gruels paused, his eyes danced, taking in Ike with curious interest. He put a left hand on Ike’s shoulder. “I don’t mean to insult you. That’s not what I’m about.”
“It used to lead our people to war,” Ike explained, determined to capitalize on the indirect apology.
“That’s great,” Gruels said, his tone flavored anew with sarcasm. “Great for your people.”
Thoughts tossed about in Ike’s mind. He foraged for the magic words that would kindle the other’s interest. He saw Gruels’s lips quiver, about to speak. Anxiety overcame him.
“Trust me,” he said. “It’s a very, very ancient deity. A very powerful god.”
“So you say. Great! Nobody ever sold me a shitty god. And nobody ever bought one from me. Every god I ever bought or sold had the greatest mojo in all of time. So, what’s new?” He took another look at his watch.
“How much are you willing to pay for it?"
Gruels scratched his forehead and then gazed at Ike, silent.
“Trust me,” Ike said, unable to bear the silent exchange of stares.
Gruels spread his arms in a sweeping gesture. “This store has great inventory. Look around, see for yourself.” He paused, as if to permit Ike to take a look. “You don’t seriously expect me to discuss the buying of—nothing! It doesn’t even make sense.”
“I told you about the—”
“Yes, you’ve told me a lot. You’ve said how powerful this god is. You’ve said it’s ancient. You’ve said blah blah blah.” He spread his arms again. “Well, guess what? My entire inventory is made up of powerful, ancient deities. I ask again, what’s new?”
“In olden days, this god—it’s called Ngene—led our warriors to wars. And they never lost one.”
“Ngina—that’s the name?”
“Ngene.” Ike spelled the word.
“Are there written accounts of these wars?”
“My uncle told me.”
“You expect me to do a deal—based on something your uncle told you?”
“He’s the deity’s chief priest. He knows everything about Ngene.”
Gruels crinkled his brow. “Did you say your uncle is the chief priest of this same god?”
Ike nodded and looked away.
“So, is he offering to sell this—what’s its name again?”
“Ngene.”
“Is the priest offering to sell this god?”
Ike shook his head.
“So, you’re not acting as your uncle’s agent?”
“No.”
“Let me ask a different way. Do you have your uncle’s permission to do this deal?”
“No.”
Gruels gave a mirthless smile. “Listen, don’t think I’m judging you; that’s not my thing. I’d love to do business with you—and I mean it. But you’ve got to show me something. Not just stories your uncle told you, something. We have a process of authentication, and it’s fairly rigorous. The gallery’s policy is to insist on things that are written down.”
“I know,” Ike said. “There’s a story about the first British missionary
who arrived in Utonki.”
“What about him?”
“He threatened to destroy Ngene but drowned in a river owned
by the god.”
“Your uncle told you this?”
“Everybody in Utonki knows the story. But it’s also in a booklet.”
Gruels nodded eagerly. “Great! Now, if that booklet exists, bring
it along with the inventory.”
“Mark, remember your meeting at Elbow Room,” Stacy shouted.
“Thanks, Stace,” Gruels said. Then to Ike: “We’ll see you when you’ve got the stuff in your hands.”
Ike raised a hand frantically.
“Yes?” Gruels said.
“We haven’t discussed the price. Could you tell me the range?”
Gruels’s brow became furrowed in exasperation. “No, really,” he said, slowly. “I discuss prices only when the inventory is in front of me. That’s policy here at foreign gods. But you can be sure of one thing—no dealer tops our offer. You said you’ve got great merchandise. You get me a great item, you can count on getting a great offer. That’s a promise.”
He extended a hand. More out of confusion than design, Ike hesitated for a moment and then took it. Again Gruels placed his left hand on Ike’s shoulder.
“Don’t think I doubt that this is a great god. But this gallery is huge on authentication. Remember that. Nothing beats seeing things on paper—photographs, books, documents. If there are mentions in one or two scholarly texts, that’s terrific.”
Ike’s heart chugged as he headed for the exit. Once outside, he drew deep drafts of air until he felt steadied. And then, in quick, springy strides, he hastened back to the garage.
Product details
- ASIN : B00E2RWQJU
- Publisher : Soho Press (January 14, 2014)
- Publication date : January 14, 2014
- Language : English
- File size : 2943 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Not Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 337 pages
- Page numbers source ISBN : 1616953136
- Best Sellers Rank: #1,722,252 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #828 in African Literature (Books)
- #972 in Black & African American Literary Fiction
- #1,294 in Australia & Oceania Literature
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
Okey Ndibe (first name is produced as "Okay") is the author of two novels, "Foreign Gods, Inc." (named one of the best books of 2014 by, among others, Janet Maslin of the New York Times, National Public Radio, Philadelphia Inquirer, Cleveland Plain Dealer, and Mosaic magazine), and "Arrows of Rain", a memoir, "Never Look an American in the Eye" (winner of the 2017 Connecticut Book Award for non-fiction), and "The Man Lives: A Conversation with Wole Soyinka on Life, Literature, and Politics". He is also co-editor (with Zimbabwean writer, Chenjerai Hove) of "Writers Writing on Conflicts and Wars in Africa". His career as an author began after he affirmed African American writer John Edgar Wideman's hunch that he was working on a novel.
Ndibe was a 2015-2016 Shearing Fellow at the University of Nevada Las Vegas. He earned MFA and PhD degrees from the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, and has taught at St. Lawrence University, Brown University, Trinity College, Simon's Rock College, Connecticut College, and the University of Lagos (as a Fulbright scholar). He was the founding editor of African Commentary, a US-based international magazine published by the novelist Chinua Achebe. He was a member of the editorial board of Hartford Courant, the oldest continuously published newspaper in the US, where his journalism won national and state awards.
Ndibe's essays and reviews have appeared in the New York Times, BBC online, Financial Times, The Guardian, Al Jazeera online, The Mail & Guardian (South Africa), Fabian Society Journal, and saharareporters.com. For more than fifteen years he wrote a widely syndicated weekly column on Nigerian politics and culture. He is currently working on a novel titled "Native Tongues".
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Ike (pronounced E-Kay) is a Nigerian in America, a graduate of the elite Amherst College who has been driving cab in New York City for thirteen years because he can not get a job despite graduating cum laude and majoring in economics. He is told at job interview after job interview that his accent is too thick and he is not a good candidate for a public relations or financial position. He is at his wits end. His bills are overdue, his ex has taken him for everything he has, and he is now up to his ears in gambling debts.
As the book opens, Ike has the idea of going to a gallery called Foreign Gods, Inc and trying to sell them a statue, one that resides in his home village of Utonki. The statue is of the God of War, Ngene, a powerful god that served his people for century, protecting them from invaders. At this time, Ike's uncle is its protector. Ike believes that Negene is very valuable and will get him hundreds of thousands of dollars and get him out of debt. His mother has been begging him for money as has his sister. He has not sent them anything for support for years as he can barely keep his own head above water.
Ike talks to Mark Gruel, the owner of Foreign Gods, Inc who tells Ike that he must bring the statue to him before he can tell how much it is worth. Ike decides to go back to his hometown in Nigeria and steal the statue and bring it back to New York. It is in Nigeria that a comedy of errors occurs and the reader is given the amazing history of the old and new Nigeria, the collision of the Christian beliefs with the traditional religion. Ike is caught in the middle and ultimately we are left to wonder "Did he have the guts to snatch the statue of Ngene and sell it?"
The story unwinds slowly and resolutely, leading the reader from New York to Nigeria and back to New York again. We follow Ike with all of his conflicting beliefs and moral ambiguity. He is a complex and intelligent man trying to make a life for himself and for his family, while at the same time that life may end up destroying the very family he is trying to save.
What really struck me about this book wasn't Ike's foolish pursuit of easy money but rather what a perfect illustration it was of the consequences of not being present. That may sound like New Age psychobabble, but one only has to look at the people Ike has left behind and is willing to continue to leave behind--his mother, who has fallen into desperate poverty due to the lack of her son's support and thus has become prey for a cynical grifter posing as a Christian preacher and his uncle, who hoped Ike would follow him as the voice of the god just as two examples--to see the consequences he has unleashed on those around him by falling into inertia, self-pity and dishonesty. Ultimately the real problem with Ike's life is that there is an Ike-shaped hole in it where Ike ought to be, but isn't.
The only disappointment I felt with this book was that a chapter of it I had stumbled upon and read on a literary website--a chapter that caused me to want to purchase and read the entire novel--wasn't actually in the novel! Apparently the author chose to edit that out. I respectfully disagree with that decision; the chapter, which was about a lavish party thrown by the owner of Foreign Gods, Inc., cast some light on the kinds of people who were buying all those stolen gods. Still, the book is a fine achievement and a complex portrayal of all the ways a disappointment can send someone skidding off the road of life.
Top reviews from other countries
Okey Ndibe's new novel, Foreign Gods, Inc. , is a fast moving and delightful read, yet with an undercurrent of more serious themes, such as of misconception of "easy life" in the rich countries, of culture clashes between modern and traditional societies and more. The title of Ndibe's novel - Foreign Gods, Inc. - gives the reader a hint of what it at stake for Ike. His discovery of the "world's largest god shop" leads to a plan that he believes is foolproof: he will steal the statue of his Nigerian community's ancient local god and sell it to the NYC shop for good money. That will wipe out his debts and allow him to embark on a new life and also help his family. "Ngene is a majestic god, a warrior god, with a rich legend and history". Ike can already see the inventory description in the catalogue and the hefty dollar figure to go with it.
Ike's travel and experiences back home make up the largest part of the book. His plan, as can be guessed, is not easily implemented and unexpected obstacles are thrown in his way. The conditions in the village are no longer the same as they were when he left... and in due course he himself has to question his own perspective on what he observes and experiences as well as his plan. Ndibe's depiction of the Ngene's Shrine and its keepers is very evocative as is his astute observation of the other goings-on in the village. Much of it comes across as tongue-in-cheek, but the author never loses sight of his concerns of disconnect and misunderstanding between the traditional society and the 'visitor' who used to be part of the local culture. Will Ike bring back the god? You have to read the novel to find out. [Friederike Knabe]
For examples, Ike's uncle a native doctor uses cell phone... obviously cell phone was introduce in Nigeria during Obansanjo's regime, but Ike's uncle does not know that the white man God is invinsible... according to the story he went to pastor Uka and asked him to show him his God.... personally I find this ridiculous... considering the time this story was set. This is one obvious failure I found in this wonderful story. I know he is Achebe's disciple and he was obviously stuck between the old and modern day Nigeria, please, don't make this obvious in your Novel. It is either you write about the modern day Nigeria or you write about what you are use to the dellusional what authentic African story should be. Aside that I give this novel a 4 start. Good story, because at the end I find myself laughing and happy... and was glad I read it but it would have been much better.