"The Reluctant American"...

...This was the title of the review of Americanah on The Wall Street Journal. It was quite an interesting review of the book. http://t.co/hfYAANyVqF I recently read the book (thanks Sissy poo for the free books :D) and...First and foremost, it was an interesting read. I had a great time reading it. The major character, Ifemelu was a girl many girls could identify with. At least with one thing about her. There was where she told her Mum about her friend and the Mum automatically assumed the said friend was a 'she' when she was actually talking about a male friend. LOL. I could relate with that.  Moving on. I felt like there were so many characters and it became a chore to catch up with some of  them. Sometimes along the book, a name would be mentioned and I would have to actually pause to recollect who the character was.

The weird thing about the book was that at a point, you would think Ifemelu-the main character- was the author of the book. It didn't help that everybody but Ifemelu was put down somehow, while Ifemelu seemed like a perfect woman. I think Chimamanda had a hard time separating her feelings from Ifemelu's so somewhere along the line you were bound to think Chimamanda was doing the talking or maybe you were caught in the web of both of them. It didn't help that Chimamanda has so much in common with Ifemelu; they both left their Universities in Nigeria to start afresh in the United States, both schooled in Philadephia, both of them have natural hair and share a common hatred for relaxers. I wondered why someone would hate relaxers so much and in fact paused my reading to tweet about it. Someone replied me, "I think she used Ifemelu to abundantly register her own reservations"

Thinking Aloud; The New Anti-Gay Laws and The Nigerian Government.

I am Unashamedly a Christian. I am Unashamedly a Christian. I am Unashamedly a Christian. By the end of the post, you would understand why I had to state that, thrice. Apart from having a relationship with God, I'm also quite opinionated. Yet, when controversial issues spring forth, I  hardly say anything these days. I mostly observe and see/hear what others have to say. Even though sometimes people say the most stupid things-because I recently decided to let go of every judgmental streak in me and also because I'm trying, albeit hard to be as objective as possible-I still try to reason from their perspectives. I never want to be biased and judge people by my standards because in some situations, my standards can be pretty high. At the same time, I never want to ignore things that are wrong because of a need to be liberal or a need to conform. Morality and religion out of the way, I'm a bit conservative anyway. So, when President Jonathan passed a bill on homosexuality; a bill that states that a homosexual should go to jail for fourteen years, there was an uproar; mixed reactions from different people. I wasn't too interested, frankly. Some people said the most bizarre things about the law but as far as I was concerned it was none of my business...or so I thought.

Where Are You Originally From?

Last Sunday was the Golden Globes Awards. I'm sure you're thinking ehen? Lol, relax. At a point during the show, I saw Chiwetel Ejiofor on my TV and I jocularly shouted "hayyy, our brrrrodaa" with an accent that is typically associated with Eastern Nigeria; Ibo men. I'm not talking about these locally acquired assorted American/British accents we hear everywhere these days. I'm talking about raw, unadulterated Ibo accent. he he. Anyway, I did that just to associate with him or in the words of my friend's comment on Facebook, 'claim him'. Imagine my reaction when I saw this video...
Actually, I wasn't disappointed or surprised, I mean I chuckled but that was about it. What puzzled me though, was a comment on Bella Naija. The person said Chiwetel was lost and that how could he have said he's originally from London. PAUSE. Well first of all, I can say I am from wherever I like. That's nobody's business. Second, I believe that his name 'sold him out'. The only reason Ellen must have asked again where he was originally from was because, well the name sounded different as with many African names in these parts of the world. Let me not start on the warfare that is teaching people to pronounce your name.

The truth, however is that I don't blame Chiwetel for saying he's from London because he probably doesn't feel connected to Nigeria. I immediately related it to how I used to say "I'm from Lagos" back in Nigeria, when people asked where I was from. And just like how Ellen further asked where he originally came from, some of my old lecturers would insist I couldn't be from Lagos simply because my last name didn't sound like a Lagosian's. I would then reply, like Chiwetel;

"My Dad and my Grandfather are from xyz, but I'm from Lagos."

Because well, I AM from Lagos.



She was awoken because of a loud, shrilling noise from her sister. She wondered when or if it was going to ever stop; the constant nightmares and the trembling. Everything had become such a burden. She never thought things would ever get this difficult, she probably knew but just never thought about it. She sort of regretted ever accepting responsibility even though she had to. She didn't have much of a choice and certainly didn't want to abandon her sister. But this had become too much of a chore. She thought about quitting, but that would only make things worse. She turned her face to her right side to calm her now terrified sister.

Alice had been saddled with the responsibility of taking care of her sister. Actually, she made the choice herself. It was a hard thing to do, but it was also the responsible thing to do. Or at least, that was what she thought. She struggled to make ends meets by working two menial jobs. The pay from both jobs was enough to feed them and provide them a place to sleep. As far as she knew, her only family was her sister, who had now become her responsibility. In six days, she would be nineteen. It had been a rough nineteen years and a tumultuous one. It had been one she never would have wished her worst enemy. She had to drop out of secondary school, not like she was still interested in education anyway. At least, now she had an excuse; there was no way she could afford both her and her sister's education. Even though, there was free education in Lagos, there were no free books, or free lunch or free house. Either way, one person had to make the sacrifice. As far as she knew, education just wasn't for her and like every other aspect of her life, it had become too much difficulty. She was more than happy to quit. Somehow, she would get by. After all, some people did get by even with being half-educated.