“Walking slightly past the small rusted gate with a creaking sound, I observe.
I want to observe. It is better than being observed.
I want to see my friend but I need to wait. Her mother may deny or her father beat her up for this new idea I brainwashed her with.
Is it wrong to invite her to my home?
My parents are loving, but after meeting her parents on a school day, it makes me wonder.
What is behind an African home?
I am made to believe the worst and the ruthless.
I see bruises on her arms and legs but I remain silent. I want to free her, I want to rescue her.
The fear in her assures me that the events behind her African home are not delightful and the horrible things that occur should never be talked about.
I should take a moment. Defend her. But that is risky. Tell my parents maybe?“,
a dialogue a white boy had with himself as he desperately waited for his beautiful friend.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie makes me appreciate the African richness and intimacy, and still be aware of what we fear among ourselves as Africans; that which is related to our African skin.
She speaks for us and with us.
Purple Hibiscus has an ending that is unanticipated, unforeseen, unpredictable and unexpected.
Kamibli’s father is a symbol of human beings that reflect the opposite of who they are to the world.
Kamibli’s mother portrays to me one who perseveres through an ignorant world and the moment the hour glass of patience runs out, she explodes enough to do that which is a taboo.
African writings leave you to an extent of unconsciousness.
You start believing that which you fear to believe.
Happy Reading 💚
Image Credits to: AJ Robbie