Amari’s Mother Character Analysis

Besa said that a band of unusual-looking strangers are coming this way, Mother,” Amari informed her. “He seemed uneasy and went to tell the village elders.”

“We must welcome our guests, then, Amari. We would never judge people simply by how they looked—that would be uncivilized,” her mother told her. “Let us prepare for a celebration.”

“You know, certain people are chosen to survive. I don’t know why, but you are one of those who must remember the past and tell those yet unborn. You must live.”

“But why?”

“Because your mother would want you to. Because the sun continues to shine. I don’t know, but you must.”

“Perhaps it is better to die,” Amari told her sharply.

Afi sighed. “If you die, they win. We cannot let that happen.”

“They have already taken everyone I loved,” Amari replied, ashamed to look Afi in the face. “And tonight they take the only thing I have left that is truly mine. Death would be a relief.”

“You will live because you must,” Afi said sternly.

Amari took a deep breath and grabbed a yam from Teenie’s basket. “My mama,” she began, then tears filled her eyes and she gave up trying to explain. She closed her eyes and sniffed it. She could almost smell her mother’s boiled chicken and yams.

“You know, my mama came from Africa too,” Teenie told her. “She teached me what she knew ‘bout Africa food. Long as you remember, chile, it ain’t never gone.”

What shall I do? Amari thought helplessly. She willed herself to imagine her mother who would know what to say and how to comfort her. All of her mother’s dreams of growing old and watching her grandchildren play had been brutally dashed into the dust. This child carries the spirit of my mother, Amari realized suddenly, as well as the essence of her father, little Kwasi, the murdered people of her village, and the spirits of all her ancestors.

She inhaled sharply as she thought of Mrs. Derby, of the infant who had been given no chance to live, and of all the other women, both black and white, who continued to suffer as property of others.

Besa said that a band of unusual-looking strangers are coming this way, Mother,” Amari informed her. “He seemed uneasy and went to tell the village elders.”

“We must welcome our guests, then, Amari. We would never judge people simply by how they looked—that would be uncivilized,” her mother told her. “Let us prepare for a celebration.”

“You know, certain people are chosen to survive. I don’t know why, but you are one of those who must remember the past and tell those yet unborn. You must live.”

“But why?”

“Because your mother would want you to. Because the sun continues to shine. I don’t know, but you must.”

“Perhaps it is better to die,” Amari told her sharply.

Afi sighed. “If you die, they win. We cannot let that happen.”

“They have already taken everyone I loved,” Amari replied, ashamed to look Afi in the face. “And tonight they take the only thing I have left that is truly mine. Death would be a relief.”

“You will live because you must,” Afi said sternly.

Amari took a deep breath and grabbed a yam from Teenie’s basket. “My mama,” she began, then tears filled her eyes and she gave up trying to explain. She closed her eyes and sniffed it. She could almost smell her mother’s boiled chicken and yams.

“You know, my mama came from Africa too,” Teenie told her. “She teached me what she knew ‘bout Africa food. Long as you remember, chile, it ain’t never gone.”

What shall I do? Amari thought helplessly. She willed herself to imagine her mother who would know what to say and how to comfort her. All of her mother’s dreams of growing old and watching her grandchildren play had been brutally dashed into the dust. This child carries the spirit of my mother, Amari realized suddenly, as well as the essence of her father, little Kwasi, the murdered people of her village, and the spirits of all her ancestors.

She inhaled sharply as she thought of Mrs. Derby, of the infant who had been given no chance to live, and of all the other women, both black and white, who continued to suffer as property of others.