[blockquote align=”centre” author=”EfikoScore: 6.1/10″ style=”font-size: 30px”] Beyond anything else, For Maria Ebun Pataki gets points for tackling a rarely discussed subject. [/blockquote]
There aren’t many Nollywood films about postpartum depression. And why should there be. Shrinks aren’t part of Nigerian culture any more than igloos are. Where psychological anomalies have been observed in a Nigerian human, a pastor’s doorstep, not a therapist’s, is what sees footfall. For taking on such an unexplored subject, Damilola Orimogunje gets points for freshness in his directorial debut, For Maria Ebun Pataki.
Centred on Aderinsola “Derin” Jacobs (Meg Otanwa), the film dramatises the effects of postpartum depression on a woman. We see how the condition, unchecked, leaves a new mother’s mind in tatters. And how it strains her relationship with her family, friends, and even her newly born child.
After a surgery that causes her to lose a lot of blood during labour, Derin conceives her first child, a daughter whom she names Maria. The given name means ‘bitter’ and is exactly how Derin would come to feel towards her infant. What should be a moment of joy becomes a cause for concern as Derin slips into depression. She feels no urge to cradle or breastfeed her daughter. She is beat down by dysmorphia. And she calls her child “child,” not “Maria,” hinting at a coldness she feels towards her baby.
Derin has the understanding and support of her husband Fola Jacobs (Gabriel Afolayan). But her mother-in-law (Tina Mba) is having none of it. Muttering a prayer in every scene, her mother-in-law would come to represent a certain sect of the Nigerian society for whom the symptoms of depression are but the outward signs of sloth, or as she tells Derin, of irresponsibility.
The film chooses a domestic setting — the middle-class home of the Jacobs — to tell its story. The house’s curtains stay drawn down and the rooms never see the light of sun, encouraging a pessimism that mirrors Derin’s inner state. Light is not the only thing missing, sound as well is kept to the minimum, both within and outside the story. In one scene, Derin tells Fola to turn down the stereo’s volume. And outside the story, there isn’t much musical score. In the absence of light and sound, death seems to live in every scene — you know something bad is going to happen; you just don’t know when.
The only sound in this film, also the only one that matters, is the cries of Derin’s baby. Failing to bring her crying baby to silence — and watching her husband easily do so — Derin takes the infant’s wails as an indictment of her ability as a mother.
Not many things are happening in its minimalist storyline. The film calls on its acting to do the heavy lifting. Otanwa’s interpretation of her role is, in large part, responsible for the film’s success. As she stares into space, empathy with Derin’s hopelessness is the natural response. Otanwa’s face, sometimes nihilist and sometimes a crease of anguish, is all the first-hand knowledge you need to understand postpartum depression. In those scenes that she casts glances towards her baby as it is rocked to sleep by her husband, there is no missing the envy that she feels towards her husband and the dislike, possibly hatred, that she feels towards her baby.
The cinematography in the closing scene is perhaps the only source of joy in this sad story. It made a right call in opting for implication rather than an outright telling of what happens.
The sudden turn the film takes at the end will, no doubt, be upsetting for many viewers. But it is the story’s only true end.
