She felt as if she had somehow failed him and herself by allowing his mother’s behavior to upset her. She should be above it; she should shrug it off as the ranting of a village woman; she should not keep thinking of all the retorts she could have ...
The Red Cross irritated Ugwu; the least they could do was ask Biafrans their preferred foods rather than sending so much bland flour.
We never actively remember death,' Odenigbo said. The reason we live as we do is because we do not remember that we will die. We will all die.
The truth has become an insult.
She wanted to ask him why they were all strangers who shared the same last name.
Greatness depends on where you are coming from.
There are two answers to the things they will teach you about our land: the real answer and the answer you give in school to pass. You must read books and learn both answers.
If the sun refuses to rise we will make it rise
And it's wrong of you to think that love leaves room for nothing else. It's possible to love something and still condescend to it.
You must never behave as if your life belongs to a man. Do you hear me?” Aunty Ifeka said. “Your life belongs to you and you alone.
Each time he suggested they get married, she said no. They were too happy, precariously so, and she wanted to guard that bond; she feared that marriage would flatten it into a prosaic partnership.
Her bladder felt painfully, solidly full, as though it would burst and release not urine but the garbled prayers she was muttering.
Richard exhaled. It was like somebody sprinkling pepper on his wound: Thousands of Biafrans were dead, and this man wanted to know if there was anything new about one dead white man. Richard would write about this, the rule of Western journalism: One...
They had both wanted it to happen and they both wished it had not; what mattered now was that nobody else should ever know.
Is love this misguided need to have you beside me most of the time? Is love this safety I feel in our silences? Is it this belonging, this completeness?
