Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie‎

when it got dark, he turned the light on and marvelled at how bright the bulb that dangled from the ceiling was, how it did not cast long shadows on the wall like the palm oil lamps back home.

The tea was always too hot, always burned my tongue,

I’m sorry your figurines broke, Mama.

when Papa threw the missal at Jaja, it was not just the figurines that came tumbling down, it was everything.

I often wondered why Sister Veronica needed to understand it, when it was simply the way things were done.

He did things the right way, the way the white people did, not what our people do now!

trousers into skirts,

You did not bow to another human being.

where he was going

It’s exciting to have to deal with God as a rival