Amma Character Analysis

Amma then spent decades on the fringe, a renegade lobbing hand grenades at the establishment that excluded her

until the mainstream began to absorb what was once radical and she found herself hopeful of enjoying it

which only happened when the first female artistic director assumed the helm of the National three years ago

after so long hearing a polite no from her predecessors,

look at it this way, Amma, she says, your father was born male in Ghana in the 1920s whereas you were born female in London in the 1960s

and your point is?

you really can’t expect him to ‘get you,’ as you put it

I let her know she’s an apologist for the patriarchy and complicit in a system that oppresses all women

she says human beings are complex

I tell her not to patronize me

they decided they needed to start their own theatre company to have careers as actors, because neither was prepared to betray their politics to find jobs

or shut up to keep them

it seemed the obvious way forward

they scribbled ideas for names on hard toilet paper snaffled from the loo

Bush Women Theatre Company best captured their intentions

they would be a voice in theatre where there was silence

black and Asian women’s stories would get out there

they would create theatre on their own terms

it became the company’s motto

On Our Own Terms

or Not At All.

she surprised herself at the strength of her grief

she then regretted never telling him she loved him, he was her father, a good man, of course she loved him, she knew that now he was gone, he was a patriarch but her mother was right when she said, he’s of his time and culture, Amma

my father was devastated at having to fell Ghana so abruptly, she eulogized at his memorial, attended by his elderly socialist comrades

it must have been so traumatic, to lose his home, his family, his friends, his culture, his first language, and to come to a country that didn’t want him

once he had children, he wanted us educated in England and that was it

my father believed in the higher purpose of left-wing politics and actively worked to make the world a better place

she didn’t tell them she’d taken her father for granted and carried her blinkered, self-righteous perspective of him from childhood through to his death, when in fact he’d done nothing wrong except fail to live up to her feminist expectations of him

Nzinga had suggested that her relationship history of blonde girlfriends might be a sign of self-loathing; you have to ask yourself if you’ve been brainwashed by the white beauty ideal, sister, you have to work a lot harder on your black feminist politics, you know

Dominique wondered if she had a point, why did she go for stereotypical blondes? Amma had teased her about it without judging her, she herself was a product of various mixtures and often had partners of all colors

in contrast, Nzinga had grown up in the segregated South, although shouldn’t that make her pro-integration rather than against it?

Dominique wondered if she really was still being brainwashed by white society, and whether she really was failing at the identity she most cherished – the black feminist one

why did Nzinga think being in love with her meant she had to give up her independence and submit completely?

wasn’t that being like a male chauvinist?

Dominique felt like an altered version of herself after a while, her mind foggy, emotions primal, senses heightened

she enjoyed the sex and affection – outside in the fields when summer arrived, wantonly naked in the heat, unworried about anyone coming across them, what Nzinga called Dominique’s sexual healing, as if she’d been suffering terribly when she met her

Dominique let it pass

she wanted to talk this through with friends, Amma most of all, or the women at Spirit Moon, she needed a sounding board, it wasn’t going to happen, Nzinga kept them at a distance, kicked up a fuss when Dominique made overtures of friendship

Amma then spent decades on the fringe, a renegade lobbing hand grenades at the establishment that excluded her

until the mainstream began to absorb what was once radical and she found herself hopeful of enjoying it

which only happened when the first female artistic director assumed the helm of the National three years ago

after so long hearing a polite no from her predecessors,

look at it this way, Amma, she says, your father was born male in Ghana in the 1920s whereas you were born female in London in the 1960s

and your point is?

you really can’t expect him to ‘get you,’ as you put it

I let her know she’s an apologist for the patriarchy and complicit in a system that oppresses all women

she says human beings are complex

I tell her not to patronize me

they decided they needed to start their own theatre company to have careers as actors, because neither was prepared to betray their politics to find jobs

or shut up to keep them

it seemed the obvious way forward

they scribbled ideas for names on hard toilet paper snaffled from the loo

Bush Women Theatre Company best captured their intentions

they would be a voice in theatre where there was silence

black and Asian women’s stories would get out there

they would create theatre on their own terms

it became the company’s motto

On Our Own Terms

or Not At All.

she surprised herself at the strength of her grief

she then regretted never telling him she loved him, he was her father, a good man, of course she loved him, she knew that now he was gone, he was a patriarch but her mother was right when she said, he’s of his time and culture, Amma

my father was devastated at having to fell Ghana so abruptly, she eulogized at his memorial, attended by his elderly socialist comrades

it must have been so traumatic, to lose his home, his family, his friends, his culture, his first language, and to come to a country that didn’t want him

once he had children, he wanted us educated in England and that was it

my father believed in the higher purpose of left-wing politics and actively worked to make the world a better place

she didn’t tell them she’d taken her father for granted and carried her blinkered, self-righteous perspective of him from childhood through to his death, when in fact he’d done nothing wrong except fail to live up to her feminist expectations of him

Nzinga had suggested that her relationship history of blonde girlfriends might be a sign of self-loathing; you have to ask yourself if you’ve been brainwashed by the white beauty ideal, sister, you have to work a lot harder on your black feminist politics, you know

Dominique wondered if she had a point, why did she go for stereotypical blondes? Amma had teased her about it without judging her, she herself was a product of various mixtures and often had partners of all colors

in contrast, Nzinga had grown up in the segregated South, although shouldn’t that make her pro-integration rather than against it?

Dominique wondered if she really was still being brainwashed by white society, and whether she really was failing at the identity she most cherished – the black feminist one

why did Nzinga think being in love with her meant she had to give up her independence and submit completely?

wasn’t that being like a male chauvinist?

Dominique felt like an altered version of herself after a while, her mind foggy, emotions primal, senses heightened

she enjoyed the sex and affection – outside in the fields when summer arrived, wantonly naked in the heat, unworried about anyone coming across them, what Nzinga called Dominique’s sexual healing, as if she’d been suffering terribly when she met her

Dominique let it pass

she wanted to talk this through with friends, Amma most of all, or the women at Spirit Moon, she needed a sounding board, it wasn’t going to happen, Nzinga kept them at a distance, kicked up a fuss when Dominique made overtures of friendship