Jaja’s defiance seemed to me now like Aunty Ifeoma’s experimental purple hibiscus: rare, fragrant with the undertones of freedom, a different kind of freedom from the one the crowds waving green leaves chanted at Government Square after the coup. A freedom to be, to do.

This quotation comes from the end of Part 1, Breaking Gods, as Kambili describes how Jaja’s refusal to take communion was the beginning of the end of her family. Here, Kambili explains the significance of the novel’s title, Purple Hibiscus. To Kambili, the purple hibiscuses represent living a life as one’s unique self. Aunty Ifeoma’s purple hibiscuses are an experimental variety created by her botanist friend—unique and unusual. Nevertheless, once Jaja plants the purple hibiscuses in the Achike compound garden, the hibiscuses are able to grow and flourish alongside the more common red ones without having to fight for the right or freedom to exist. Within the context of this quotation, Kambili views Jaja’s refusal to take communion as him attempting to exist as his true self instead of the person Eugene tried to force him into. He is not trying to act defiant, like the active defiance of political protesters, but simply expressing his individuality.

For both Achike children, discovering and holding on to the freedom “to be, to do” is an essential part of their character arcs. The parallel Kambili draws between the hibiscus and Jaja sets up a metaphorical connection between the cultivation of plants and the raising of children. Throughout the novel, we see how Eugene attempts to mold every detail of his children’s lives. Therefore, instead of developing her own preferences, values, and desires, Kambili constantly asks what her father wants her to do and how her father wants her to be. She is not permitted to grow or exist as her own person. In contrast, Aunty Ifeoma raises children who have no problem expressing their true selves. Jaja attempts to bring this freedom back with him to Enugu by planting the purple hibiscuses in the family garden, symbolizing his refusal to be anyone but himself. Kambili, too, finds this freedom. At the end of the novel, when she analyzes her relationship with Father Amadi, she says she “simply” loves him, “just” donates to his mission, instead of asking questions. She, too, has found freedom to be and do what feels true to herself.

“They are not like those loud children people are raising these days, with no home training and no fear of God,” Papa said, and I was certain that it was pride that stretched Papa’s lips and lightened his eyes. “Imagine what the Standard would be if we were all quiet.”

This conversation between Ade Coker and Eugene appears in Part 2, Speaking with Our Spirits, when Ade Coker comes to visit the family in their compound in Abba. This moment makes the novel’s parallel between a tyrannical country and a tyrannical home explicit. At the very same time Nigeria’s government has fallen to a military coup, Eugene rules his family like a dictator, controlling not only every aspect of his family’s lives but making them terrified to so much as voice criticism of the juice his factory creates. His control has left Kambili and Jaja emotionally and socially stunted, at times not even able to understand or voice their own opinions. Similarly, under the new dictatorship, the people of Nigeria suffer from the disrepair of their basic utilities and public services, from petrol and electricity to healthcare and education. This metaphor demonstrates how on any scale a tyrannical leader stunts the growth, expression, and happiness of those they rule.

This quotation also highlights a fundamental hypocrisy in Eugene’s character that underlies Kambili’s complicated feelings about her father. Eugene is proud for having raised quiet children who refuse to defy him. However, one of his proudest investments is in the Standard, a newspaper devoted to truthful journalism that is willing to speak out against government corruption. He does not appear to recognize the inherent contradiction of being a tyrant at home while speaking out against tyranny in government. What he values in his own work, he refuses to value in his children. This duality in Eugene’s character echoes the way Kambili both loves and fears her father. Even in this quotation, she notices the pride Eugene feels when Ade mentions how quiet Kambili and Jaja are. Kambili spends much of the novel seeking her father’s pride, and here she has it, but at the cost of eradicating any trace of an individual personality, particularly in front of company. Were she to behave like the Standard, speaking truth to power, Eugene would not be so proud.

Papa snatched the painting from Jaja. His hands moved swiftly, working together. The painting was gone. It already represented something lost, something I had never had, would never have. Now even that reminder was gone, and at Papa’s feet lay pieces of paper streaked with earth-tone colors.

This quotation comes from Part 2, Speaking with Our Spirits, when Eugene destroys the painting of Papa-Nnukwu. This moment serves as a metaphor for Eugene’s active destruction of Kambili and Jaja’s ties to both their grandfather and Igbo culture. Eugene refuses to allow Kambili and Jaja to have a relationship with Papa-Nnukwu because Papa-Nnukwu refuses to give up Igbo spirituality. When they get to know Papa-Nnukwu thanks to Aunty Ifeoma, it’s clear that a major part of his relationship with their cousins is his transmission of Igbo cultural traditions. In Aunty Ifeoma’s house, these cultural traditions are treated as part of their Nigerianness, something complementary to their Catholicism. Because Amaka, Obiora, and Chima have a loving relationship with Papa-Nnukwu, they know about the spirits in the mmuo procession, how to do call and response storytelling, and how Papa-Nnukwu likes to look out at the land. Papa-Nnukwu looks at Amaka’s painting, something done with modern watercolors, and proudly connects it to ancestral painting practices, both expressing love for his granddaughter and making space for her in the ancestral lineage.

Throughout all these moments, Kambili feels sad and outcast because she has not been allowed to seek out this love from her Papa-Nnukwu that is shown through the transmission of culture. Although Amaka gives Kambili the painting of Papa-Nnukwu for her to cherish and remember what connection they did have, when Eugene destroys it, he only makes physical the loss that Kambili has already recognized. Because Eugene refuses to allow Kambili to know Papa-Nnukwu, she never develops a rapport with him, never hears his stories multiple times and learns the proper call and response. She never gets to hear him proudly pronounce that something about her would have been recognized by her ancestors as sacred, the way he does with Amaka’s artistry.

“I felt the Blessed Virgin there. I felt her,” I blurted out. How could anyone not believe after what we had seen? Or hadn’t they seen it and felt it, too?
Father Amadi turned to study me; I saw him from the corner of my eye. There was a gentle smile on his face.

This quotation comes from Part 3, The Pieces of Gods, when Kambili, Amaka, Aunty Ifeoma, and Father Amadi go on pilgrimage to Aokpe where there have been sightings of the Virgin Mary. This moment is a poignant spiritual crystallization for Kambili, allowing her to imagine a wholly Nigerian Catholicism. When Aunty Ifeoma first brings up the sighting of the Virgin Mary, Eugene is quick to point out that the Vatican has not confirmed the sighting as genuine. Aunty Ifeoma’s counter that the church will never confirm the sighting is a recognition that because of colonial attitudes, the Catholic Church is unlikely to take a sighting of the Virgin Mary anywhere in Africa seriously. Just like Eugene’s disdain for Igbo traditions and refusal to see them as compatible with Catholicism, the Catholic Church doesn’t see Nigeria as an inherently godly place, but a place they must bring God to. However, Kambili feels something powerful out in nature, under the flame-of-the-forest tree in the glint of the sunlight. That the Virgin Mary appears outdoors further highlights that she’s appearing in the land of Nigeria itself, not brought by an outside force. This experience helps Kambili rework her understanding of Catholicism in a way Jaja is ultimately not able to. Kambili maintains her Catholic faith because she can see it as a part of her Nigerianness, much as Aunty Ifeoma and Amaka do.

Additionally, Kambili’s faith further bolsters Father Amadi’s. In his interactions with Amaka and Obiora, they consistently point out the way the church demeans Nigerian names, people, and cultures, and the strangeness of him being a missionary. By expressing complete faith in witnessing the Virgin Mary, Kambili is also reminding him that his existence doesn’t need to be a contradiction. There can be a sighting of the Virgin Mary in Nigeria, and he can be a Nigerian missionary.

But we are not rivals, God and I, we are simply sharing. I no longer wonder if I have a right to love Father Amadi; I simply go ahead and love him. I no longer wonder if the checks I have been writing to the Missionary Fathers of the Blessed Way are bribes to God; I just go ahead and write them.

This quotation comes from Part 4, A Different Silence, as Kambili updates the reader on her relationship with Father Amadi. This moment shows how Kambili has grown and healed because she has transformed her model for love. Kambili’s previous model for love came from Eugene, a love that was conditional, constantly earned, and expressed through pain and punishment. The blur between human love and God’s love in this passage highlights the role religion can play in shaping one’s view of love. God is often referred to as the heavenly father, and Eugene’s relationship with God is similar to Kambili’s relationship with Eugene. Eugene deeply believes that not following God’s commands perfectly will lead to eternal punishment. Because of this belief, Eugene makes it clear to his children that his love for them is second to his love for God, that he cannot love them as they naturally are because God himself would not allow it. Under this form of love, Kambili must constantly second-guess her instincts, desires, and actions. Father Amadi, in contrast, shows Kambili affection immediately, even when she is awkward and shy. He delights in hearing her thoughts and opinions. His faith in God leads him to having faith in people, like the boys he coaches in football, as opposed to fearing them. Even though he can never return her romantic affections because of his vows to the church, Kambili nevertheless doesn’t feel like she has to compete with God for his love because Father Amadi’s belief in God is loving and expansive. By allowing herself to accept her love for Father Amadi, Kambili is therefore able to believe in a God who also accepts her inclinations and feelings. This freedom to simply follow her instincts is reminiscent of the freedom the purple hibiscus represents. Kambili allows herself simply to be as she is.

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