Odafen’s “We Were Girls Once” is A Roadmap of Friendship

Aiwanose Odafen’s 2022 debut novel, Tomorrow I Become a Woman, ends with optimism. The protagonist, Obianuju, finally breaks free from the constraints of a toxic, patriarchal marriage. As the story draws to a close, there’s a glimmer of hope that she might reunite with her first love, Akin, and get her happy ending. However, readers would only get a conclusive finish after two years with Odafen’s 2024 sophomore novel and sequel, We Were Girls Once.

The novel opens with Nwakaego, daughter of Obianuju. By conventional standards, Nwakaego appears successful: an Oxford-educated lawyer living in a luxurious Canary Wharf apartment, working for a prestigious Magic Circle firm in London’s financial district, and earning a six-figure salary. Yet, a palpable discontentment grows inside her. This unease stems from various sources: her father’s failure to acknowledge her growth into womanhood, the racism she encounters at Oxford and in her workplace, and perhaps a deeper, unnameable malaise. To cope, Nwakaego adopts an anonymous persona on Twitter, channeling her frustrations into the digital realm where she feels most in control. Odafen skillfully portrays Nwakaego’s struggles, challenging the notion that success immunizes against life’s hardships. If anything, Nwakaego’s privileged position seemed to double her troubles. It’s easy to see that her relationship with her father, Chief Azubuike, was doomed regardless of past events, including the incident that nearly led to her death. Unlike the archetypal submissive woman often seen in patriarchal narratives, Nwakaego was not cowed by societal expectations or powerful figures. Her father embodies the misogynistic attitudes she rails against, manipulating even his own daughters for personal gain. Odafen’s portrayal of such characters reminds us that they are present in our world, and raises the disconcerting possibility that we may never fully be rid of them.

The author weaves a compelling narrative through the alternating perspectives of three young women: Ego, Zina, and Eriife. Their connection, rooted in a chance encounter between their grandmothers on a bus to Lagos, blossomed into a multigenerational bond. Their mothers —Obianuju, Chinelo, and Adaugo— held each other’s hands through the hardships of life and paved the way for their daughters to inherit their legacy. Odafen’s storytelling strength lies in its grounding in reality. As she unfolds the lives of her three protagonists, she deftly captures the complexities of long-term friendships. The narrative poignantly illustrates how even the closest bonds can fray, not through deliberate actions, but as a natural consequence of life’s diverging paths. This theme is particularly evident in Eriife’s gradual distancing from the group following her relationship with a politician and subsequent rise in politics. Ego pursues a career in law, Zina finds her calling in acting, and Eriife navigates the intricate political world. Through these diverse paths, we see the multifaceted nature of female ambition and success in contemporary society, highlighting women’s struggles before leading in their careers and jobs.

With each woman’s point of view came distinct worlds. Odafen builds their spheres with characters imbued with their own unique essence. From major players to minor figures like Zina’s gateman —who memorably caught a fish in one of Lagos’s notorious floods— every character has depth and authenticity. This demands the reader’s full attention because if one isn’t careful, one could mix things up and get confused. We witness Nigeria’s evolution —or perhaps more accurately, its regression. Odafen’s narrative seamlessly integrates pivotal global and local events: political upheavals in America and Britain, the #MeToo movement, Nigeria’s perennially compromised elections, vote-buying scandals, corrupt politicians, death of British Princess Diana, Ebola outbreak, “sex for grades” controversy, COVID-19 pandemic, murder of James Floyd, and the brutal EndSARS protests. The depth and breadth of historical detail suggest extensive research, lending the story a documentary-like verisimilitude that blurs the line between fiction and reality. The author’s treatment of the EndSARS tragedy is particularly poignant, culminating in the death of Eriife and Soye’s daughter. This personal loss humanizes the political elite, suggesting that even well-connected politicians are not immune to grief. It subtly alludes to the possibility that similar, untold personal tragedies may have unfolded during the real-life events of October 20, 2020.

The central theme is obvious, the power of female friendships. A bond that manifests in pivotal moments: Zina supports Ego as she publicly confronts a pastor who defiled her; Ego provides a listening ear and emotional anchor for Zina as she navigates her challenging relationship with her mother; and both women welcome Eriife back into their circle despite her earlier reluctance to be true to herself. Even the older generation —Obianuju and Adaugo— exemplify this enduring connection, extending their love beyond life itself as they tenderly care for Chinelo’s grave. Of course, it’s wrapped alongside other themes such as trauma, sexual abuse, and migration, but it is love —particularly the love shared among women— that emerges as the true hero of the narrative. 

The author’s nuanced portrayal suggests that she herself has been blessed with a strong support system and meaningful friendships. Her writing invites women everywhere to forge and nurture vital connections, underscoring the importance of solidarity in the face of patriarchal challenges, and acknowledging that while we may never fully eradicate such systemic issues, there is power in a united front. Ultimately, We Were Girls Once testifies to the enduring strength of female friendship, offering a mirror to those fortunate enough to have such connections and a roadmap for those yet to discover its transformative power.