Feminism and the Mediation of the
Mythic in Three Plays
by Tess A. Onwueme

Afam Ebeogu

Imo State University, Nigeria

Tess A. Onwueme has published ten plays.1 In three of them, The Broken Calabash, The Reign of Wazobia, and Legacies, she explores the specific issue of the dehumanizing status of women in Nigerian society, while in the others she employs the idiom of satire with its less demanding plot strategies, linguistic decorum and rigid characterization to deal with a variety of other concerns. This study focuses on some of the facets of a variety of other concerns. This study focuses on some of the facets of feminist commitment that recur in Onwueme’s work. In order to explore Onwueme’s deft handling of her craft and ideology, we must articulate the cause for which she fights, the conventional tactics with which the cause is usually fought and her conformity with, or deviation from, these tactics.
The characteristics of contemporary feminist perspectives on literature include an exploration of the fate of the female protagonist against the historical background of dominant patriarchal values; an insistence that the feminist writer and her protagonist’s behaviors, thoughts, and language be predicted on unique natural qualities determined by their biological quotient; the often deconstructive imperatives which enable the feminist critic to arrive at meanings other than what is obviously denoted and connoted by the writer, a demand that the work of the feminist writer be explored against the background of psychoanalytical theory in order to uncover the nature of societal
repressions that engender a distinctive feminist perception of the world of women; an examination of lesbian tendencies born out of women’s unapologetic affirmation of their right to derive sexual satisfaction outside of the constraints of male chauvinistic ethic and morals; the recognition of the ideological affinity between Marxist ideology and the feminist cause; the inevitable advent of Black feminist sensibility in the face of an overgeneralized female comradeship which ignores the particularity of the Black experience in contemporary social history; and the imperative reexamination of myth criticism over the ages in order to expose the fossilization of ideas, symbols and archetypal interpretations by a critical sensibility grown and nurtured in terms of the male psyche.
The above constitutes a large part of the feminist cause. But in spite of the workshops, group solidarity and project syndrome that have characterized the feminist movement, especially in Europe and America, in cannot be said that there has emerged a single model designed to inform a global feminist creative of critical enterprise. For example, the African-American feminist movement, but Black African feminism, while reflecting a good many of the characteristics of the European and American varieties, tend to hold an independent posture based on the notion that the cultural background that gave rise to the subjugation of women in Africa is quite different. Ifi Amadiume, basing her argument on socio-anthropological research, insists that gender roles were not as sharply defined in traditional African societies as they were in the Indo-European world. She also argues that the advent of colonialism introduced into African gender relations male/female dichotomies that were in many ways alien but which have, in time, eaten deep into the fabric of indigenous African gender ethics, ultimately creating a complex amalgam that is neither quintessentially African nor characteristically European.
A study of the three Onwuene plays mentioned above reveals that she is not a feminist generalist, but an African writer attempting to explore the dilemma of the African women from an African point of view. She argues that the Nigerian women has been marginalized for ages. This marginalization is a result of the myth of sexual superiority created and furbished by men in order to justify their monopoly over the good things
of life. Men have used their brute physical strength as an instrument of intimidation against women, and mythicized into a status of inferiority aspects of women’s natural biological endowments. Thus, the inferiorization of women gave rise to certain psychological predispositions and a complex of social, economic and political disabilities in women which men have perpetuated through the ages as sexually inherent.
Yet Onwueme argues that traditional political and socio-cultural institutions, essentially erected by men as mythic structures of domination, have built-in mechanisms for women to identify these traditions and institutional structures and use them to liberate themselves. Theirs is a fight not for a reversal of roles, but for a balancing of such roles; not for the denial of natural endowments, but for the utilization of such endowments in achieving self-fulfillment, equality and respect.
The Broken Calabash
In The Broken Calabash, Onwueme’s first significant attempt at a feminist aesthetic, the author organizes a coup d’état around the Idegbe custom, a traditional Igbo institutional set-up constructed essentially to satisfy the ethic of a male-dominated culture, The institution of Idegbe is a practice whereby a young lady who is an only child is denied marriage and compelled to remain in her father’s household to procreate. The children born by this young lady become her father’s. Alternatively, the lady may “marry” another woman who would the procreate for her father’s household and becomes a “female husband” by role. In either situation, the Idegbe arrangement insures a man’s obi or ancestral continuity.2 Behind the practice is the fundamental principle of male lineage. It is expected that the girl who remains in her father’s household and lawfully procreates without a legal husband, or the one who “marries” another woman to perform that duty, will bear a male child who would then inherit the property of the “grandfather” and perpetuate the name of the family.
Ona, a university undergraduate and modern woman, finds herself in the situation of the Idegbe in The Broken Calabash. But she has a lover, Diaku, whom she expects to marry. Her parents do not allow her to fulfill
her wishes, and she loses her lover to a girlfriend. Ona does not leave matters at that, as many traditional Igbo girls would. If her father cannot stand the scandal or disapprove Ona’s claim, so he commits suicide, tragic note on which the play ends. Ona, the instrument of Onwueme’s feminist protest, turns a mythic arrangement into a mythic reality and leaves her father to stew in his own jucies.3
Onwueme’s coup d’état is a deft one. She recognizes the literary legitimacy and the mythical stature of the material she is handling. The archetypal complex between a father and his daughter is properly rooted in African traditional cultural practices. To lift her play above these commonplaces, the author deploys, and in some cases overdeploys, the dramatic irony of situations and words by situation the events of the play in the ritual framework of the Ine festival, which is a festival of ritual cleansing before the harvest of the new yam, the Igbo king of crops. The festival is dominated by verbal and non-verbal satirical practices, during which all members of the community who have been found morally wanting are brought to public ridicule.
The dominant mood of the play is therefore comic, but Onwueme creates an ironic situation where the tragic events in the Courtuma households are acted out against the background of the comic imperatives of festivity. Ona is a woman in bondage, and her bewilderment and loss of faith in the gender status quo of her culture are tragic; the festive ritual background of the play is an expression of the spirit of freedom but that same cultural setting sustains the mythical structures that enslave women. The playwright is determined to highlight this ironic situation and often brings together disparate moods which do not synchronize. This explains why Courtuma never cuts a tragic figure even if the circumstances of his suicide evoke a significant dose of pathos.
In her attempt to build up and sustain a chain of ironies which would vitalize her archetypal theme, Onwueme deploys the resources of rhetorical ambivalence, especially while handling the relationship between Ona and her father. We are made to accept that the love between the two is filial but at the same tie we are not relieved of the consciousness the Courtuma’s appreciation of his daughter is amorous,

even sexual. “But my father—he can go to any length with me. My father will do anything to keep me and make me happy,” says Ona, and when her friend, Ugo, reminds her that her father cannot marry her, she replies, “If it were possible, he would . . .” (6). Elsewhere, Courtuma assures Ona that she means more than a daughter to him: “I . . . am your father and will always be father of your children generation after generation, even from my frave” (19). Perhaps the most powerful indication of Courtuma’s unconscious desire to have carnal knowledge of his daughter is revealed in a dream in which he utters:
Ona! I am your father. . . . I will confirm—you with my own oil. Life-giving juice to anoint you. I, who gave you life. I can give you the cream and seed of life. Ona! Stop! Don’t go Don’t do it. Do you doubt my power? (31)
These are the words of a jealous suitor, not of a father and it is instructive that the dream takes place while Ona and her lover, Diaku, are about to steal a moment of love-making. Here the playwright is unmistakably utilizing Freudian psychology, as Courtuma’s repressed desire manifests itself unconsciously in his dream.
Ona perceives in the Freudian relationship between herself and her father the potential of elevating a psychoanalytic possibility to the status of a social reality. An ostensibly filial bond is allowed to metamorphose into an alleged incestuous relationship which, in the eyes of the very culture the instituted the practice of Idegbe, is abominable. If Ona’s accusation of her father appears callous, she would be prepared to defend it: she is confronted with a cultural practice that is entirely robs her life of meaning and, in her fight against the system, she is prepared to deploy every resource at her disposal, including her education and intelligence. As she says:
You people have a very ambitious murder-plan. You will not only slaughter me on the alter of your decadent tradition, but would also want another female head. I say—to hell with you tradition. Homestead! Norm! All. Let the wind blow—Let the shaky homestead be blown. Any-thing which cannot stand the force of change must be uprooted or be blown into oblivion by the storm heralding the new season! (43)
Ona’s posture is defiant and characteristically feminist. To argue that she is callous is to argue in favor of a cultural system based on a myth
of male superiority which robs the woman of the right to make her own conjugal choice. Even if a girl decides not to marry but remain in her father’s household and raise children, as some modern self-reliant women are doing today, it should be her own choice and not the imposition of a “decadent tradition.” But thanks to that tradition, the feminist protest does not destroy the Anioma (Igbo) people, for a culture that instituted traditions like Idegbe constructed at the same time a sociological mythic weapon with which that very tradition can be assailed. In this regard, The Broken Calabash is a precursor of The Reign of Wazobia, Onwueme’s most African feminist play thus far.
The Reign of Wazobia
The Reign of Wazobia is also based on a ritual structure, through which is quintessential, sublimated, life-enduring mythic content is enacted. The cyclical pattern of the play is signaled by the foreshadowing of the end in the prologue as a way of emphasizing the continuity of life in spite of events that may have transpired within the rhythmic structures of the seasons. The action is set near the end of the mourning period for the late king of IIaa in the Anioma Kingdom, a time to install a new kind. The king-regent, Wazobia, is holding tight to the reins of power, and the menfolk assembled in the village square, a mystical meeting place between the living and the dead and between gods and men, are attempting to ritually force the “women-king” into capitulation. Wazobia refuses to budge and thanks to her mastery of theatrical gesture and rhetoric, conducts the cast and the audience into choreographed flashback, which constitutes Movement One, so that we can learn how the conflict started.
Three seasons back we witness how Wazobia was crowned king-regent at the beginning of the festival of Ifejioku, during which the great Igbo yam-god is propitiated before harvest time is ushered in. We understand through Wazobia’s democratic selection as King-regent that tradition is responsible for temporarily place her on a throne otherwise reserved for men. From Movement One, we are piloted through the Movement Six, amidst a carefully structured operatic ambience that consistently foregrounds the ritual base of the play’s action. In the process we are confronted with Wazobia, an educated and intelligent woman of
iron will, who is as agile as the tiger (Agu), which is one of her praise epithets. Wazobia browbeats men and coaxes women, and her language is a masculine and figurative as befits a king. Her rhetorical competence is disarming, and where she fails to intimidate with the measured impact as her assertive speech, she is sure to persuade with the ethical appeal of her flawless logic. She is a revolutionary firebrand, and would date the unimaginable. She submissively allows tradition to install her as “King” in a culture of male dominance and patriarchal values, but refuses to let the same tradition push her off the throne. Once on the throne, she carries out a palace coup and sees her advent as an opportunity to reverse the gender discriminations which her culture has institutionalized over the years. She musters the women on her side, and by the time the play ends, there emerges the new myth of a women king-regent, who succeeds in holding fast to the throne and mesmerizing the menfolk into abject ineffectiveness.
Onwueme’s creative device is the destruction of a socio-political cultural myth with the artificial myth constructed around a feminist ideology. The Igbo culture of Anima is male-dominated: only men are installed kings on a permanent basis and only men can become chiefs. The political institution that makes decisions is run by men and the values by which successful citizens are recognized, such as the title if Digi [Husband of yams] for a man who is innumerable barns of yam, are male-entrenched. A man is a hero because he is a mighty hunter or a smith. A man who is able to pummel a wife to submission is considered masculine and the praise poetry of the culture is built around achievements possible only for the menfolk by virtue of their physical strength as males, their social role as husband, their cultic functions as the link between the living and the ancestors and their socio-linguistic role as the formulators of the standard phrases with which acts of perfection and propriety are assessed in the society.
Wazobia is out to debunk all these male-centered values. Her first act is an attempt to stifle the royal drummer of praises, who is then compelled to eulogize Wazobia in the very panegyrics hitherto preserved for the men:

I, Wazobia
Am the masquerade
Who dances the hot step of the new day
The finger which laps the soup
When it is hottest
While the men scrape it from the sides
The lead masquerade who
Speaks many tongues. . . . (5)

Once on the throne, Wazobia mobilizes the womenfolk and talks them into the apprehension of their roles in society from a new perspective. They begin to see her not just as another ephemeral regent but as a “new dawn,” a “maiden king,” and a king who must reign long. Bia, one of Wazobia’s ardent female supporters, say to a colleague:
But for Wazobia, you’ll not be standing firm on the ground. You would have remained, touched away, rejected today like pudding without wrap. (17)

We do not see Wazobia making new laws or instituting new socio-political structures which elevate the status of the womenfolk, but it is assumed that she does all these things, as suggested by the powerful rhetoric that bears witness to her intentions:
Women, that is the task before you
To set the hand of the clock aright
To move time, not allow time to move you . . .
It is our time to till. It’s our time to tend
That we may be planted on firm soil. (22)

Even the Queen mother, the Omu, who originally stands on the side of tradition with the menfolk, is shaken out of her ignorance and soon casts her lot in with this new “female” King who “rules by decree.” After a powerful speech by Wazobia, the “Queen mother of the tribe/First among women,” capitulates to the phenomenal charisma of Wazobia. As the stage direction indicates:

Slowly, the OMU is beginning to relax her stern face, and gradually she becomes so persuaded that by the time WAZOBIA makes the last state-ment, the OMY’s face has thawed out completely into a smile and she spreads her hands encompassing all the women who have risen in unison

to form a circle around her. All the women break into a triumphant song. (34)

Henceforth the menfolk are forced into a defensive position, and rather than match Wasobia’s logic with counter-logic, they degenerate into despicable schemers and intrigue-makers in order to topple Wazobia. They are not united, however, and even while they scheme against the “king,” they also scheme against each other for a possible succession to the throne. Here the playwright uses the technique of reductionist char-acterization to alienate the chiefs of the kingdom from the sympathy of the audience. Ben when the menfolk assemble and decide in the name of tradition, to present Wazobia with the steaming calabash of herbs as ritual symbol of rejection by the whole community, they do not earn the sympathy of the audience, since their leaders have already been presented as unprincipled and self-seeking. Even so, the men are likely to win the day, since physical strength, the basis of their chauvinism, is on their side. The womenfolk, however, play their trump card, which again is provided by tradition by using their bodies to freeze the men into inaction
Suddenly the cock crows. Women from behind the throne sound their war-cries. Led by the OMU, they advance, naked and in unison, from an arc behind WAZOBIA. The men are so shocked that they retreat, stagger and freeze in their stupefaction. (55)

This scene is a feminist master stroke: where the women lack physical strength, their naked bodies, their natural state, do the battle for them. In such a state they dance around their new messiah, Wazobia, holding hands and swinging their waists, then carry her shoulder-high. Amidst the shouts of “Long Reign WA-ZO-BIA,” the “light lingers” and finally fades into a blackout. The play ends in an unmistakable victory for the women, and a triumph for Wazobia.
It is instructive that, after Wazobia’s coup, her reign is sustained by mythic symbols fashioned by a patriarchal consciousness. For example, the village square, where a great deal of action of the play takes place, “comprises the shrines, containing the Ikenga and the Ofor” (1). The Ikenga is “a wooden staff and shrine signifying manhood [and] great achievements,” while the Ofor is “a symbolic link between the dead


ancestors and the living” (51). These mythical symbols are used for ritual performances in which men are usually chief celebrants; the Ikenga and the Ofar, institutionalized only by the menfolk, are thus both male-oriented, the one embodying a cult of masculine success and the other a symbol of ancestral continuity which is ensured only through male progeny. Wazobia allows these symbols to deck the ritual ground from which she launches her war against the very values which they represent. The success of Wazobia is therefore mythical. Each morpheme in her name means “come” and symbolizes a call to all Nigerian women to come together and fight against a dominant culture of male chauvinism.
Legacies
Onwueme sustains the tradition of feminist defiance in Legacies, her latest play published in 1989. In this play, as in The Broken Calabash and The Reign of Wazobia, a “mythic and ritual structure” informs the action.4 Indeed, the single-location setting of the play is grotto situated in a community named Idu.5 Idu is a mythical kingdom that features in a number of Igbo folktales, especially in communities around the Niger which either trace their origin to Benin or had, in the historical past, experienced the sovereignty of the ancient kingdom of Benin. The Idu of the play is therefore a mythical African community, and if it happens to be Igbo, it is because it serves the author’s purpose best, enabling her to evoke mythological and legendary associations which are properly indigenous to Africa. Beyond that, it also enables her to root her setting in a culture with a specific cosmology and values upon which an argument for an authentic African world, vision and history can be based.
It is to Idu that Mimi and her son Uli, African Americans who were born in America and nurtured by American values, go in search of their roots. Initially they find it bizarre and fearful, for Uli, Idu is like something out of the dream, a mythical location that is real only in his mother’s brain. But for Mimi, the strong-willed African-American woman, Idu is a dream that must be given reality, a land of promise that holds real meaning and legacy. An she is right, for Idu turns out to be a ritual ground suffered with music, dance and a haunting atmosphere of chthonic presences affirming the essence of a humanity in vibrant communion with a cherished past. The presence of Mimi and Uli threatens
to disrupt a significant rite of passage in progress, an initiation into manhood. The chief celebrant in that rite is none other than Elozie, Mimi’s husband and the father of Uli, who had emerged from America years back. Through a fast-revolving web of dramatic irony, suspended on weighty rhythms of highly evocative verse, the author weaves incidents of recognition and estrangement: a husband beholds his wife and denies her; a son beholds his father, detests and then embraces him; a mother-in-law beholds and treasures a daughter-in-law and a grandson; and a community offers sacrifices to the gods for an addition to their number. Above all, husband and wife reconcile the two halves of a cultural whole split years before, and that great moment of illumination reveals a terrible secret: the couple are siblings of the same father. But Onwueme does not allow this relation to cause irreparable damage, for abominations become what a culture declares them to be. Thus, the inadvertent acts of the past do not hold the present for ransom.
The quest motif is typical of mythic stories, but this subject matter is not what gives Legacies its uniqueness. Thematically, Onwueme merely reinvigorates monumental but familiar echoes of an epic search for one’s ethnic roots, whether they resonate from an Alex Haley or a Lucky Dube. But she gives the treatment of her material a stamp of uniqueness through the feminist haloes which the play radiates. The protagonist, Mimi, is a woman. She dares to reject her American present and embarks on a search for a past and a future Africa. She holds fast to an eternal dream despite real difficulties. As she tells her son:
We’ve come a long way
Son
It’s a long road to life
Living means BECOMING
Hoping to become
What we want to be
And CAN BE!!! (7)

Mimi must get hold of her dream and stretch it, and even her unwelcome presence in Idu does not daunt her. She stands firm against the hostility of what turns out to be her family in Idu. Until the scene of recognition where she reveals that Elozie is her husband. Her strength of endurance
is epic, and when Elozie falls back on machismo in his attempt to cow her silence, she shields herself with the Ikenga, a symbol of the masculine strength and drive which her iron will demonstrates. Then she proceeds, in the near martial rhythms of her evocative verse, to assure the man that things would no longer be as they have been in the States, where he could brutalize her. Now she stands firm on the soil of African mother-hood, where her image “shines/To reflect the face of tomorrow” and “the blood binds their navels. The eternal bond of motherhood” (72). It is true that Elozie subjects Mimi to the indignity of being branded an osu, an outcast, which symbolically identifies her with her American rootlessness, but she has made her point. Anene, Elozie’s mother, eulogises her as a kind of messiah whose epic endeavours earn her the panegyrics of an African mythical princes. She is the
Ebony
Beauty of the Forest
Soul of the forest
Ebony whose dark essence
Mocks termites
Ebony whose body
Laughs aloud at the untutored hand
carving the history of the land. (65)

Ultimately Mimi is identified with all the efficacious plants in the mythical botanical garden of Idu, which harbors all the herbs that purify the African body and spirit and forever keep free of vermins. Uli [the black ink that never fades], her son and link between the present and the future, is the high-priest attending this garden and identifying the potent herbs (113-14).
Significantly, the values which Mimi has always stood for are the very values which the Masquerade (the mythical voice of the dead temporarily reincarnated in Movement Five as Meme, the father of Elozie and Mimi) affirms. As the spirit gives Uli a lantern, representing the ever-luminous path into the future, he instructs him to “[r]etrieve the spirit of a mother/Chased like a hen into the night” (103). For, in the words of this eternal voice of wisdom,
So long as woman remains
As string to tie
the navel to the umbilicus
Will the young
Be born alive, not still,
But wax strong in solid roots. (104)
The lamp guides Uli on his journey into the mystic wood or herbs and illuminates his inner vision. He returns with the plants which, when squeezed into Mimi are revealed as brother and sister and Uli is, therefore, the child of an incestuous relationship, the family’s crises do not develop into a tragedy. The song of Meme that ends Movement Five is not a dirge but a song of reunion. As the song gets louder, Uli triumphantly lifts up the new bronze Ikenga, the mythical icon of a future vibrant Black civilization, and “Anene now resolute spreads her arms and gathers them all as a hen would gather her brood” (123). Mimi is not a women shouting mere feminist slogans and rebelling against male chauvinism. She is Mother Earth herself, in whose sands every new-born baby is first “washed” in the Igbo tradition. She is a mythical symbol of endurance, vision, optimism and regeneration \, the feminist factor that validates the masculine dynamism which the Ikenga represents.
Tess Akaeke Onwueme is not a radical feminist, but in all of her plays, especially the three discussed in this essay, she devotes considerable attention to feminist themes. Her plays are best appreciated against the background of the Igbo culture from which she liberal draws her material. Like many good writers, she is an idealist, and it is this idealism that attracts her creative sensibility to the potential of mythology. Placed at the service of her feminist interests, the mythical lends itself to an art which rises above the banality of mere ideological proselytizing. She takes a careful look at traditional African (Igbo) institutions and sees in them authentic materials which, though often institutionalized by retrogressive patriarchy over the years, can be put to good use for the cause of positive change. She is an artist who deliberately throws stones into ponds in order to cause ripples.







Notes






1. These plays include: Ban Empty Barn and Other Plays, (Owerri: Totan Publishers Ltd., 1986); The Desert Encroaches, (Owerri: Heins Nigeria Publishers Ltd., 1985 & Ibadan: Heinemann, 1988); A Hen Too Soon, (Owerri: Heins Nigeria Publishers Ltd., 1983); Mirror for Campus, (Owerri: Headway Publishers Ltd., 1987); and A Scent of Onions, (Owerri: Total Publishers Ltd., 1986).
2. This issue of the ancestral continuity is the thematic preoccupation of John Munonye’s fictional trilogy: The Only Son, (London: Heinemann, 1986), Obi, (London: Heinemann, 1969) and Bridge to a Wedding, (London: Heinemann, 1978).
3. In this paper, we used to word “myth” to mean not only an imaginative creation by man, supported with all the sacred paraphernalia of culture practices so as to assume the status of a legitimate order which must not be violates, but also an imaginative projection into the future which, though not based on empirical evidence of the moment, is still symbolic of a desired objective believed to be realizable. For the exploration of the various dimensions of the mythic imagination, especially the African creative writer and his use if myth, see Isidore Okpewho, Myth in Africa (Cambridge: Cambridge U P, 1983), 155-221.
4. The relationship between myth and ritual is ably discussed by Lord Raglan in “Myth and Ritual,” in Myth: A Symposium, ed. Thomas Sebeok (Bloomington: Indiana U P, 1965) 122-35
5. M.A. Onwuejeogwu undertakes a brief but insightful historical and socio-anthropological treatment of the relationship between some Igbo communities and the kingdom of Benin (Edo) in his 1987 Ahiajoku Lecture entitled, Evolutionary Trends in the History of the Igbo Civilization in the Culture Theatre of Igboland in Southern Nigeria (Owerri: Ministry of Culture, Youth & Sports, 1987) 34-35. It is often postulated that the quasi-divine kingship and institutions in most of these communities portrayed fictionally by Tess Onwueme in The Broken Calabash and The Reign of Wazobia was as a result of Benin (Edo) imperial influence. But Adiele Afigbo’s historical insight into the matter renders the debates as to why greatly influenced
whom politico-ritually, the Edo (Benin) or the Nri (Igbo), immensely speculative. See Adiele Afigbo, Ropes of Sand: in Studies in Igbo History and Culture (Ibadan: University Press Ltd. & Oxford U P, 1981) 58-63.



Work Cited



Amadiume, Ifi. Male Daughters, Female Husbands: Gender and Sex in an African Society. London: Zed Books Ltd., 1987.

Humn, Maggie. Feminist Criticism: Women as contemporary Critics. Sussex: Harvester, 1986.

Onwueme, Tess A. The Broken Calabash. Owerri: Totan Publishers Ltd., 1984; Ibadan: Heinemann, 1988.
____. Legacies. Ibadan: Heinemann, 1989.
____. The Reign of Wazobia. Ibadan: Heinemann, 1988.