On Olukorede S. Yishau’s After the End
After the End is an enriching experience through the complexities of love and human relationships. The cities in which Olukorede S. Yishua’s second novel is set are London, Liverpool, and Lagos, and is centred on Idera, whose life unravels after the death of her husband, Demola.
Idera struggles to accept that the man with whom she had planned her future died without warning. She grapples with his absence and her grieving heart and also worries about raising three rapidly maturing sons (Tunmininu, Pamilerin and Ileri) alone. In her pain, she is visited by a strange woman, Lydia, with a young boy in tow. The unsettling feeling elicited by Lydia’s visit is quickly justified as she reveals that Demola had also been her husband—for longer even—and that the little boy who shares an uncanny resemblance with Idera’s Ileri is Demola’s son.
Denial is Idera’s first response; it is simply unbelievable that her husband is the same person that Lydia speaks of, as she also embraces the pain of Demola’s infidelity. But this slowly gives way to acceptance, then rage—for, not only has Demola left her with a crushing responsibility for her to bear all alone, death has also spared him the consequences of his actions. Ultimately, Idera, like the reader, is forced to swallow the red pill: her life with her husband was built on secrets and lies.
After the End employs both first and third-person narratives, affording readers an intimate view of the characters’ struggles, but distant enough to maintain a broad perspective. It is divided into two distinct parts, each marked by quotes that subtly reflect the unfolding events. The first part introduces us to the circumstances leading up to Demola’s death, alternating between the earlier lives of both Idera and Demola, and the former’s present life. A quote from William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar sets the tone: “The evil that men do lives after them. / The good is oft interred with their bones.” But the novel itself begins with an opening sentence that is both catchy and somewhat misleading: “Google died on the day the UK voted to leave the European Union.” (We later find out that “Google” is an alias of Demola.)
Readers take an active part in Idera’s journey towards accepting her reality. At first, all she does is brood over the past, uncovering Demola’s secrets, which deepens her heartbreak. Every day reminds her not only of her loneliness, but also of how Demola, whom she’d thought of as affectionate, betrayed her. In witnessing how she moves on with her life, slowly and painfully accepting that the past cannot be undone, Yishau tells us that life isn’t so straightforward as imagined; and illustrates this by revealing both Idera’s and Demola’s perspectives, enabling us to peel off layers of complexity tucked beneath the singular theme of infidelity. Moreover, this provides a deeper character exploration of Demola; as sharing stories from both him and Idera is important, especially because at first, the novel carries a quite strong misandrist tone, largely due to Demola’s actions and the portrayal of other male characters such as Dr. Balogun. However, this deeper observance into Demola’s past provides context that makes his character more understandable, enough to slightly alter one’s perception of him.
Demola is not the insidious husband who is thoughtless about his wife’s feelings. Neither is he a cruel father to his children. He is simply as a human being who makes mistakes, some of which can be costly. We see that he, in fact, appears to have been troubled from childhood until his death. He struggles as a child with an irresponsible father and a mother who works herself to death. Ironically, Demola’s life mirrors the very path he wanted to avoid while growing up—the same life his father led when he abandoned his mother for another woman he had impregnated.
Although Demola is undeniably flawed, his story illustrates the complications of the exercise of love. His indecision—between staying with Idera, the woman he fell in love with at first sight on the bus, and Lydia, who has been a part of his life since childhood—ultimately leads to his downfall.
In the novel’s second half, we are introduced to another character, Justus Kensington, who shares his awful experience as a Nigerian journalist. With no prior mentions, his sudden introduction leaves us curious and puzzled. But as the plot moves, so does our understanding of the nexus between Justus and the novel. The relationship between Justus and Idera becomes one of After the End’s most unpredictable elements; at first, Justus is an enigmatic figure, but soon his path intersects with Idera’s in unexpected ways.
Yishau’s brilliance shines through the introduction of this new character. While the first part of the book seemed to lean into a familiar Nollywood trope—where the husband dies and the wife is either ostracised or discovers a hidden family, the second part takes a more thoughtful and interior approach in the way Yishau unveils Justus to his readers. The effect is profound.
One way to approach this novel is through a psychoanalytic lens, by examining how past events and traumas shape characters’ actions and personalities. For instance, Demola’s background is shaped by a dysfunctional home life, marked by his father’s abandonment of the family and his mother’s gradual descent into death as a result. Yet, despite Demola’s vow to avoid his father’s mistakes, he paradoxically follows a similar path. Similarly, the 15-year-old boy who attacks Tunmininu also comes from a broken family, with an absent father, a factor which contributes to his troubled behaviour. It becomes apparent to readers that characters share common familial backgrounds, which significantly influence their behaviour.
Another angle worth examining is the novel’s social setting. It underscores the challenges faced in a society that often punishes women who dare to deviate from social norms. While careful planning for childbirth is crucial, societal pressures create harsh realities for young women, especially when the pregnancy is unplanned. In many Nigerian communities, it is not uncommon for parents to send their pregnant daughters away, a practice frequently depicted, once again, in Nollywood films. This harmful tradition not only isolates vulnerable young women but also serves as a contributing factor to the breakdown of family relationships.
Idera’s story vividly illustrates these pressures. After her aunt discovers Idera’s pregnancy, she sends her out of the family home, and leaves her to face an uncertain future alone. This rejection leaves Idera without support and forces her into the hardships of motherhood. It is within these circumstances that she and Demola—a man already burdened by his own emotional and familial traumas—form a family. The tragic outcome of such a union is, perhaps, inevitable.
Beyond personal betrayals, After the End also touches on Nigeria’s political history, portraying the impact of the country’s military regimes in the private lives of its citizens. Perhaps the character most directly affected by political instability is Justus Kensington, as his political activism leads to his unjust imprisonment. His experiences echo the plight of Ikem Osodi, the outspoken journalist from Chinua Achebe’s Anthills of the Savannah, as both characters—through their active journalism during the oppressive military regime—find themselves entangled in both personal and political strife.
Despite the intense exploration of grief and betrayal, the novel maintains a balance between the weight of its themes and a sense of resolution as Idera slowly learns to find meaning in her new reality, finding love in the process. However, parts of the novel feel underexplored—the male characters, unlike Idera, lack voice and this limits readers’ ability to fully appreciate their reasoning and the motives of their actions. Characters like Lydia and Suliat also appear underdeveloped. Their personas are filtered through Idera, so that we only see them through her. Lydia, for instance, is depicted in the beginning as a villain of sorts, but as Idera’s views shift, so does the portrayal of Lydia.
Yishau’s writing in After the End is clear and engaging; there is a delicateness he writes with, that feels akin to listening to a raconteur. The novel is deeply humane and affectionate; however depressing its themes, it does not rule out the possibility of redemptive endings.♦
Read more book reviews on Afapinen here→
Evidence Adjarho’s review won third place in the After the End Book Review Competition. Read the second-winning essay here and the first-place essay here.
Evidence Egwuono Adjarho is a final year undergraduate of English at the University of Lagos, and a prolific book reviewer. She was the winner of the Afrocritik Prize for Criticism 2024. 𝕏