"Then listen to me," he said and cleared his throat. "It's true that a child belongs
to its father. But when a father beats his child, it seeks sympathy in its mother's hut. A
man belongs to his fatherland when things are good and life is sweet. But when there is
sorrow and bitterness he finds refuge in his motherland. Your mother is there to protect
you. She is buried there. And that is why we say that mother is supreme. Is it right that
you, Okonkwo, should bring to your mother a heavy face and refuse to be comforted?
Be careful or you may displease the dead. Your duty is to comfort your wives and
children and take them back to your fatherland after seven years. But if you allow
sorrow to weigh you down and kill you they will all die in exile." He paused for a long
while. "These are now your kinsmen." He waved at his sons and daughters.
"You think you are the greatest sufferer in the world? Do you know that men are
sometimes banished for life? Do you know that men sometimes lose all their yams and
even their children? I had six wives once. I have none now except that young girl who
knows not her right from her left. Do you know how many children I have buried-children I begot in my youth and strength? Twenty-two. I did not hang myself, and I am
still alive. If you think you are the greatest sufferer in the world ask my daughter,
Akueni, how many twins she has borne and thrown away. Have you not heard the song
they sing when a woman dies?
"'For whom is it well, for whom is it well? There is no one for whom it is well.'
"I have no more to say to you."