First of all, allow me to go backwards and start without much ado because I am just itching to express my thoughts on Americanah. I know I said I’d never read it but one Sunday evening I was feeling like I had nothing else to read (which was obviously not true) so I reached out to the book and turned the pages that looked like they had been turned by 20 people before me. Chimamanda got my attention on that first page when she talked about braiding and on the second page, where she mentioned that Ifemelu had a blog. Just because she captured me with this character with a blog, I hang on when she started making it look like women who straighten their hair have a missing part of their africanness than those who braid theirs. I always get pissed off at people who want to make one way of maintaining African hair superior to the other. At this point, I would rather Njoki Chege than Chimamanda. Okay, maybe I have gone too far but you get my point.

Sometimes, I read books. Boring books. Books that suck the life out of me. Books that claim to be New York Times bestsellers. Books that everyone else has read. Most times, I let them sit on my headboard, waiting for a second chance. Other times I let them sit on my shelf until the day I feel they might be interesting again because my understanding of them has changed with experience. Often times, I just give them out because it’s not good to hoard stuff that someone else might enjoy. I gave away The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari. I couldn’t stand it. Turns out my BFF’s mum loved it. I also gave away two John Grisham books: Sycamore Row and Gray Mountain. Honestly John bored me to death with these two. Bear in mind I’m a Grisham girl. Why would he bore me then, you ask? I have a theory.