The Girl with the Louding Voice is a gripping, sad but hopeful account of a young girl growing up in Nigeria, who has to face an appauling chain of circumstances as a result of the accepted treatment of women, and of the poor. Some of the circumstances are specific to Nigeria, but the ideas, injustices and themes of the book transcend that context.

We explore female oppression, vulnerability and exploitation, and particularly how each feeds the next. Adunni herself comments that although slavery is banned, without more help and less judgment of vulnerable people, especially towards women, exploitation will always be possible. While oppressive, unequal and unreasonable expectations and demands are placed on women, they will continue to be put in vulnerable positions. Adunni’s story shows us that justice can only be achieved with preventions and protections, and equal expectations & treatment of all people.

These heavy and difficult topics are beautifully depicted through Adunni’s honest, electrifyingly insightful observations, in broken English. The comical juxtaposition of her wisdom with her difficulty expressing herself in English, commented on by several characters, is symbolic of the very point of this book: those with the most to contribute aren’t always given the loudest voices. Many never get the opportunities to speak, and society is worse off for that. Adunni’s final reflection, that good English doesn’t equal good sense, echoes this truth.

English is only a language…Nothing about it is so special, nothing about it makes anybody have sense.

Time and again we see the value of Adunni’s voice, in her songs, in her wisdom and encouragement and assistance of women superior in age and wealth, including Big Madam and Tia. Often she is told to stay quiet, advice she ignores. Her louding voice is not about language, but her refusal to be beaten down, her courage to fight on.

In this way we witness the inequalities of Adunni’s world, and the world around us. Her learning English is an attempt to succeed and progress by merit, just like Big Madam said she had done herself. But we see throughout that this world is not meritocratic, that women’s achievements are held with less worth than men’s. We see this in Big Madam’s struggle, forced to take back her husband despite his significant failings, because a woman isn’t permitted to live and succeed alone. And we see it most acutely with Adunni, who learns time and again that women must suffer in ways that men do not.

Why are the women in Nigeria seem to be suffering for everything more than the men?

Girls are deprioritised access to school, are forced into marriages where they are expected to bear children, and must tolerate polygamy. Even wealthy women like Big Madam have a harder time succeeding in business than their male counterparts due to prolific gendre discrimination.

Wealth inequality is also a bitter distinction, especially comparing the situations of characters between the first and second halves of the book. In the first half, men sell their daughters in return for food. Women are given the choice between hateful, abusive marriages, or starvation. Girls are denied education because their primary value is seen to be as a vessels for bearing sons. Water comes from the river or a local well. Compare this with the wealth and luxury that Big Madam and others enjoy in Lagos, with an enormous house, sanitation and servants. The disparity is stark. Classism is also rife. Adunni is treated awfully by those that see her as a worthless servant, including beatings from her madam and vile pronouns from Tia’s mother-in-law. She is treated as sub-human because of her economic position, her servant social class.

But do not mistake this book for a heavy read though. The story is moving and superbly told. Never are we bogged down by the political themes which instead thread lightly through chapters. Mostly we are submerged into the portrayal of Adunni as a young girl, struggling to make sense of a world where everything is taken from her. Her love and longing for her mother and family remind us that she is just 14, and how difficult things have been for her at such an early age. The need for care and guidance, offered by kind supporting characters, bring Adunni to life, showing her weakness as well as her strength. Even we who have had a very different and more fortunate life than Adunni are able to connect with her longings for care and choice, and the chance to play with her friends. Somehow, among the trauma and the struggle, Daré house an excellent job of making Adunni relatable, lovable, and real.

Rivers are a recurring venue in this book. The river is a source of water for washing and sometimes drinking; where Adunni plays with her friends; a place for purifying baths; the scene of Khadija’s death and Tia’s brutal whipping. From the River Niger to the River Benue they are frequent sources for comparison. They are places of joy, despair, cleansing and pain. Adunni chooses to bury her own struggles in an imaginary river:

lock the box and throw the key inside the river of my soul

Women are sent to the river for water or purification, beaten there like Tia, or left on the banks to die. Adunni, whose voice is suppressed, unsurprisingly chooses a river in which to smother the troubles of her life.

Why have we accepted that women should be held under so that men can stay afloat?