Half of a Yellow Sun

by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

He did know that the Igbo were said to have been a republican tribe for thousands of years, but one of the articles about the Igbo-Ukwu findings had suggested that perhaps they once had kings and later deposed them. The Igbo were, after all, a people who deposed gods that had outlived their usefulness. Richard sat there for a while, imagining the lives of people who were capable of such beauty,

The real tragedy of our postcolonial world is not that the majority of people had no say in whether or not they wanted this new world; rather, it is that the majority have not been given the tools to negotiate this new world.”

Afterward, she felt happy knowing that some of the sweat on her body was his and some of the sweat on his body was hers.

“Ezi okwu? Really?” Olanna repeated.

Dalu. Thank you.”

Master should have lowered his voice; he should know very well that a beggar did not shout.

“Ngwanu; let the day break,”

Richard looked at his hazy reflection in the glass door. He had a tan and his hair looked fuller, slightly tousled, and he thought of Rimbaud’s words: I is someone else.

Grief was the celebration of love, those who could feel real grief were lucky to have loved.