In The Son of the House, Cheluchi Onyemelukwe-Onuobia attempts to redirect our attention away from oppressive male-female dynamics towards a deeper exploration of the power dynamics within female-female relationships. Through narrative detailing various kinds of trauma, such as cultural betrayal trauma, insidious trauma, and institutional betrayal trauma, she explores the themes of rape, blame, economic insecurity, fragile masculinity, and insensitivity as cultural outcomes of a patriarchal society where cultural pressures render trauma hidden and repetitive. Within the patriarchal constructs in The Son of the House, women are conduits of oppression that continuously perpetuate betrayal and traumatisation of women.
For instance, Mama Nkemdilim, Nwabulu’s stepmother, responds to her economic powerlessness by depriving Nwabulu of opportunities that could empower her, like formal education. She reasons that “she had not gone to school and had still been able to marry a good man. She had not gone to school, yet knew how to do all that a woman of Nwokenta could do—clean, cook, fetch firewood, make a fire, make palm oil, farm, buy, sell, and bear children” (20). When Mama Nkemdilim’s distant relative Papa Emma, who lives in the city of Lagos, informs her that his wife needs a housemaid, Mama Nkemdilim is reluctant to send Nwabulu there, not because of genuine concern for Nwabulu’s well-being or her opposition to child labour, but for the fear that Nwabulu’s relocation to the city will grant her financial independence. If that happened, Nwabulu would become “a big person in Lagos” (17), thus challenging Mama Nkemdilim’s control over her. She thinks the opportunity “is too good” (16) for Nwabulu. Nwabulu’s potential for autonomy and opportunities beyond her stepmother’s control destabilises Mama Nkemdilim’s limited power. Her reluctance to send Nwabulu to Lagos reveals her fear that Nwabulu’s access to independence might weaken her own social and economic influence within the household.
In another instance, Nwabulu suffers physical and insidious trauma from both Madam (Papa Emma’s wife) and Mama Nkemdilim’s reaction to her rape. She suffers in an environment where Madam mistreats everyone, including her husband, Papa Emma, whom Nwabulu calls “Oga.” Witnessing Madam slap Papa Emma in front of her, Nwabulu cannot help but question his lack of response and wonders why he tolerates such treatment. His inability to acknowledge his shame and uphold his dignity only intensifies Nwabulu’s suffering, as his toxic, fragile masculinity is, in effect, restored through raping her.
The day it began, the children had been playing, I had been massaging Madam’s back, and Oga had just returned from work. Where had he been when she called this afternoon? Madam had demanded. The slight pause as he foraged through the day’s doings for an answer had earned him an angry slap. His hand had again gone up to his cheek. And his eyes, glancing away from his wife, had this time fallen on my face… That night, Oga crept into the store where I slept amid yam tubers and bags of rice and beans… He clasped my neck with one hand, fumbling with his zipper with the other, and whispered threats when I tried to shout, to struggle, to move my not-quite-eleven-year-old body from beneath him. Madam would kill me, I thought, gritting my teeth, biting down the pain. “Don’t tell anyone,” he ordered. (22)
When Madam catches her husband in the act, she does nothing to him but attacks Nwabulu with a knife before sending her back to her stepmother, who instead of seeking justice for her, calls her a “husband snatcher.” The two women’s responses, not with support but with violent and verbal condemnation, as though punishing her for a crime rather than offering empathy or protection and addressing her trauma, reflect how scapegoating as a cultural pressure prompts women to uphold oppressive norms through acts of brutality against one another.
What further complicates these women’s characters is that despite their complicity, they embody some form of feminist consciousness that subtly challenges patriarchal expectations even as they participate in oppressive practices. For instance, Mummy, Nwabulu’s second employer, remains in an abusive marriage yet insists on the importance of education for empowering girls, going as far as possible to ensure Nwabulu receives schooling. However, despite these feminist inclinations, Mummy directs hostility at Nwabulu after any confrontation with her husband, displacing her frustration onto Nwabulu rather than addressing the root of her problem. Similarly, Mama Nkemdilim refuses to remarry any of her late husband’s male family members, as custom typically allows. She rejects the idea of being held in captivity by any man, hinting at a form of “liberated woman” consciousness that resists subjugating male authority. Yet, paradoxically, she partakes in the same cultural practices that oppress other women, turning against Nwabulu to protect herself, going as far as agreeing to marry her off to a dead man to avoid having to care for Nwabulu and her unwanted teenage pregnancy. This dual stance reveals her struggle for freedom within a system that offers little or no room for liberation, thereby exposing the internalised contradictions that sustain oppressive structures.
Trauma thus arises as both a product and reinforcement of subjugating power structures and ideologies within a culture, which manifests in the lives of post-colonial African women. While she may embody elements of feminist consciousness, she remains entangled in multiple layers of trauma that may occur under the broader umbrella of cultural betrayal trauma. Cultural betrayal trauma arises from broken cultural trust, compounded by oppressive cultural pressures such as violent silencing, deprivation, and scapegoating. These forces create cycles of unresolved and repetitive acts of trauma, with cultural outcomes that include desensitisation, complicity, peritraumatic dissociation, and a pattern of victim-making. Trapped in this cycle, the African woman resigns herself to this normalised oppression or accepts a conditional, limited form of freedom, which Nigerian feminist thinker Chimamanda Adichie calls “Feminism Lite,” (Adichie 1997). Over time, this normalised trauma casts her into the dual roles of both the abused and the abuser.
Damilola Oyedeji (Ariella) is a Nigerian poet, literary critic, and educator. She is an MA English candidate at Missouri State University and a past fellow of the Sprinng Writing Fellowship. Damilola’s story, ‘Nature’s Trick,’ was included in the ANTOA Writing Contest 2021 shortlist. Her Poem “Self-Portrait As A Mateless Bride” was nominated for 2025 Best of the Net Award.