#nigerian writers

[classicbooks101]

Does love bring, even if unconsciously, the delusional arrogance of expecting never to be touched by grief?

Notes on Grief, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

[afrofeministe]

Yewande Komolafe / Photo Clay Williams x Eater

'Komolafe, now a cooking writer and columnist at the New York Times, wrestles with what it means to search for one’s place in the world in her cookbook My Everyday Lagos, which Ten Speed Press will publish in October. It was a book she didn’t even plan on writing.'

[rawhippie519]

All discographies need a change of pace to keep the whole of the artist realistic in a flowing and ever-changing world, why would music be any different. Predictably may feint security but it isn’t as common as the surprises and switch-ups that make up life. If every day is a new day full of unique opportunities and interactions, then as products of our experiences, we are bound to change. Right?!? If that is not the case, then delusion will suffice. However, if it is, then it’s about time we morph and shift and become. Akwaeke Emezi’s Freshwater was a novel I recently finished. It was a masterpiece; it told the story of Ada who tussled with the perplexing aspects of being an ogbanje. While the status of ogbanje can carry negative energy and cause challenges for the host, The Ada comes to her own conclusion and dives deep into her self to create herself from the pieces scattered throughout her souls and experiences. Emezi’s conceptualization of Asughara and her dynamic relationship with Ada as both her end and her protector, gives us a sense of mutualistic yet conflicting goals in which Ada is able to navigate the world thanks to Asughara but is also pushed to the edge of death by her innate desire to return and put aside their physical body. Saint Vincent also serves as a medium through which Ada can break boundaries in her sexuality and gender identity to exist physically in the way The Ada has existed spiritually. It is a powerful read that shapes the way you think about self, duty to oneself and all others, and the endless journey towards self realization. Overall 10/10 read

[iameriwa]

Metamorphosis

Imagine waking up and deciding not to hide your true identity, feelings, and beliefs anymore.

Taking the time to explore all the possibilities of what your life could be without wearing a mask.

Freeing up your mind from the distractions, stress and fear that you have been experiencing for far longer than necessary.

Well today is that day Sis!

Be encouraged, get ready for a big change,

A departure from what you’ve become accustomed to.

Just know that Ọlọrun, Olódùmarè [The ruler of Heaven and earth, our Supreme God] has an abundance of blessings in store for you.

(Amin Ase)

Embrace your new self, your new path, and believe that your future will bring you closer to your divine purpose, and that your biggest dreams will finally become fulfilled.

Stop holding yourself back, worried that you might fail, because you’re about to fly 🦋

Author @iameriwa

Photo credit @yarnover_ng

[blackqueernotables]

Unoma Azuah: authored Nigeria’s first memoir about being lesbian.

[yourdailyqueer]

Yrsa Daley-Ward

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Queer

DOB: Born 1989

Ethnicity: Nigerian, Jamaican

Nationality: British

Occupation: Model, poet, writer, screenwriter, actress

[bypreciousugo]

BOOTS

“After Nila, an insecure young woman, discovers a pair of talking heels, she must go on a journey of self-love & acceptance in order to show her ex-boyfriend that he made a mistake in dumping her.”

written & directed by Precious Ugochukwu (@bypreciousugo)

Premiering soon on YouTube.

[adannamdi]

Mastering Blurbs, Synopses, and Mixed Descriptions: Unleash the Power of Your Book’s Aroma! Ever wondered how to craft the perfect pitch for your story? Think of it like serving a delicious meal—your blurb is the enticing aroma that draws readers in, the synopsis is the menu outlining the flavors to come, and the mixed description is the waiter's captivating words sealing the deal. Join me in exploring how these elements can elevate your storytelling and marketing game, with a sprinkle of food analogies to make it memorable! Ready to make readers hungry for more? 🍽️📚

[have-you-heard-of]

Have You Heard Of?

“A man who would be intimidated by me is exactly the kind of man I would have no interest in.”

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie b.September 15, 1977

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is an award-winning author and an influential advocate of feminism. She has captivated people worldwide with her powerful storytelling and her outspoken campaign for gender equality. She was born in Enugu, Nigeria, and was raised in an academic environment that surely nurtured her passion for writing. As one of six siblings she grew up in the university town of Nsukka, her Mother was the first female registrar at University of Masuka and her father was Nigeria's first professor of statistics, and later became Deputy Vice-Chancellor of the same university. She attributes her success in part to her parents for, encouraging her self-confidence and being supportive by always showing that they had confidence in her. She began studying medicine and pharmacy at the university school her parents worked at; though, writing seems to have called to her, as she also edited the magazine created by the medical students. She left her medical studies after a year and a half when at nineteen she gained a scholarship to Eastern Connecticut State University in America, where she graduated summa cum laude (with highest honours) with a degree in communication and political science and continued her passion for writing by producing articles for the university journal. She went on to gain her master’s degree in creative writing from Johns Hopkins University, become a Hodder Fellow at Princeton University, earned an MA in African Studies from Yale University, and she was awarded a fellowship by the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study, Harvard University. During this time, she has released numerous novels, including A Feminist Manifesto in Fifteen Suggestions. She holds strong feelings regarding gender equality and is proud of her femininity, taking pleasure in fashion whilst grappling with the knowledge that she will be judged for the way she chooses to dress. Her belief is that you should be happy to be who you are, without being forced into a mould society has decided fits your gender. Refusing to conform to a female academic stereotype, she loves make-up and has been the face of Boots No7 cosmetics. Now married with a daughter, she splits her time between Nigeria, where she teaches writing workshops, and the United States. All in all, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is a world-renowned writer, acclaimed academic, fashion icon, beauty queen and a feminist warrior we all should have heard of.

“If you criticise X in women but do not criticise X in men, then you do not have a problem with X, you have a problem with women.”

Books and Novels

Notable Awards and Honors

35 awards, 21 are literary awards, including: Future… Award (Young Person of the Year category), 2008 Global Hope Coalition's Thought Leadership Award, 2018 Action Against Hunger Humanitarian Award, 2018 UN Foundation Global Leadership Award, 2019 Africa Freedom Prize 2020 Business Insider Africa Awards, 'Creative Leader of the Year', 12 April 2022 Influential people lists including: The New Yorker's '20 Under 40', 2010 '100 Most Influential Africans 2013', New African '100 Most Influential People' by Time Magazine, 2015 Fortune Magazine's List of 50 World Leaders, 2017 'World's Most Inspiring People in 2019' by OOOM Magazine Forbes Africa's '100 Icons from Africa', 2021 'Changemakers: 100 Nigerians Leading Transformational Change', 2022

“Teach her to reject likeability. Her job is not to make herself likeable, her job is to be her full self, a self that is honest and aware of the equal humanity of other people.”

Trivia

Her childhood home was one formerly occupied by the Nigerian writer Chinua Achebe

Beyoncé's song, "Flawless," features excerpts from Adichie's TED Talk.

Adichie thought she had invented purple hibiscus & was shocked to receive a call from her editor telling her they existed in America!

[politicalprocrastinator]

I know Russell has since made work that has a more in depth discussion of what it means to be Black British (see Roscoe in It's a Sin) and clearly Ncuti has been amplifying Black voices on set through costuming etc. But I do hope the history of 10's misogynoir is addressed particularly because Donna's Black British daughter is going to be a big part of the 60th specials.

[paisholotus]

This song is either crack or witchcraft. It's one of the other 🤦🏾‍♀️

[classicbooks101]

Grief is a cruel kind of education. You learn how ungentle mourning can be, how full of anger. You learn how glib condolences can feel. You learn how much grief is about language, the failure of language and the grasping for language.

Notes on Grief, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

[inkfulinsight]

Inspired by Given (anime)

Song- Wildflower (Billie Eilish)

Love is easy.

I met you when I was young and I knew you your whole life. I knew you when I started to become aware of the world, I knew you when I started to understand a perfect family is a myth, I knew you when I started to differentiate what love was and wasn't.

I knew you when our team won the basketball game, I knew you when you broke down in tears when your pet fish died.

I knew you when the wind blew your hair, as you stuck your head put the window- worried me, I couldn't dare look away- but I saw the vast blue behind you, blurry and endless as the car tried to reach it's end. I knew the contentment on your face, eyes fluttered close.

I knew you. I knew you I knew you.

I knew you when you started to fall for me too. I knew you when you made aware that I had always loved you, because there was no one else l'd ever watch. Maybe that is why love was easy.

But now love is hard. You've gone away from sight, from my life, from this world and I still have all this love to give you.

What do I do with all this love?

[misanthebear]

With this mouth, I sing no songs.

Sister Hope fell to her death two weeks after the mist came. Tripped, said the men who took her away and disappeared into the thick grey smoke that covered every view like a board stroke of paint. This news was blasphemy to the headmistress, sister Olivia. For a good week now, she had been leading the girls into prayer morning afternoon, and night against the evils that the ‘mist’ came with, she strongly believed that this oddity was some kind of adversary that could be prayed away, or fought as she said it, spiritually.

She stared at the men as they told her the cause of the sister’s death, taking her time to drink her water quite dramatically, then rained insults on them for their ignorance of the spiritual.

The men simply shrugged and went on their way.

Nneka was unmoved by this when the girls came back from their eavesdropping, in her mind she had already labeled sister Hope a bubbling fool with two feet. She was rather crude for a nun, always lost in her head when she was not cursing someone out for the littlest of mistakes, nevertheless, Nneka still felt her loss. Despite her disdain for children alike she never cared for monitoring them during prep. This freedom would be greatly missed, Nneka mused.

That day prayers lasted for three hours straight, praying vigorously against the thing that killed the sister.

“There is evil everywhere,” sister Olivia said, “we must pray that it hurts no more.”

Sister Olivia was a former Mountain of Fire member before converting to Catholicism. Her hysterics and tactics converted into even more hysterics and tactics with a sprinkle of Hail Mary here and there. She was a big woman with an even bigger personality and presence, Nneka liked her the best out of the three sisters that worked as their matrons. She always made herself noticed throughout the halls with her loud stomping and even louder voice, so when she disappeared it didn’t take long for everyone to notice.

Sister Abena was the only one left in a house filled with children, the great mist growing now into a great fog. As if fed by their paranoia and fear. Taye called it an evil spirit that had possessed their dormitory, and Kehinda called it a curse for not being focused during prayer this whole time, as the trio tended to fall asleep during mass. Nneka had a couple of ideas of what could be the cause, after all, they had never had a mist like this since she could remember. The nature of it did not feel foreign or disruptive. The fog had eaten the sisters, she told them, it was an animal that would feast on them all, after hearing this every girl hearing range kissed their teeth in annoyance.

The calls would be led to nowhere as sister Abena found. The main school phone could not be reached, the police were even more useless than usual and the fog got thicker and thicker with no sign of sister Olivia. So thick that sister Abena feared the worst if she ventured into what she saw as a living trap.

Sister Abena was the youngest out of all the matrons. Many thought she was ill-fitted for the job, citing her age as a reason. Despite this opposition, time showed she was the most composed and calm of the three. She rarely spoke, but when she did your thoughts shut up. She never demanded respect and she was never cruel.

She led them into prayer for one last time in the cathedral their dormitory had connected to it. They prayed in complete silence, each girl speaking to god about their fears, their desire for the warm embrace of home, and the type of yogurt they wanted once this was over.

From the side, Nneka saw the way the sister’s fingers cluck to her rosary as a single tear rolled down her face. This time she prayed for real, she prayed everything was a dream.

For the next couple of days, sister Abena tried to return the dorm to some form of normalcy. Enlisting the older girls to join her to cook, including Nneka who was in charge of making the base stew for jollof.

The cathedral was used as a laundry room. Lines of wet clothing stretched from the arms and neck of the Virgin Mary to the pillars that held the holy water. At night, the sister would tell them beautiful stories of a life outside the grey walls that surrounded them, where life was so much more than homework and chores. The fun she had in her college days and what it was like growing up poor in the streets of Accra. She told them about how she came to Nigeria and loved her time there, and the children listening hung on each word and loved her in return.

On the fifth day, she did not bother with the phone anymore. Food was gone and things were getting out of hand. The catalyst started on the third night when SHS two’s Lucy woke up screaming her lungs out.

She ran down the halls frantically like she was looking for something, digging her nails in her ears constantly as if trying to draw blood. before she could do any real damage, she was tackled by her friends. Sister Abena soon came and carried her to their dorm room as she tried to comfort her to stop. The commotion caught the attention of all the 30-something girls in the dorm, causing a crowd to gather around them as the spectated Lucy’s face contoured as fought to be freed. When nothing else seemed to calm her down, the nun slapped her hard and screamed at her to stop, the first time anyone had heard her shout at anyone or seen her angry for that matter. This did get her to stop shouting, but the peace that came with that was short-lived as her cheeks shallowed in.

The sister moved before her thoughts were aligned. She used all her strength to try to pull the girl’s teeth apart as the seniors her down.

“Nneka get a knife!” sister yelled.

Quickly she ran kitchen, jumping steps and hoping she wouldn’t trip and fall. The kitchen had only three brunt knives that they kept for making food. It was never sharp enough, and it was always kept in the same place. The same drawer that was now empty.

In the heat of desperation, she tried looking for anything else, just anything that could be used yet there were no table knives, forks or spoons. Her mind finally wandered to the fridge.

The smell was the first thing that hit her before the nauseating sight became clear. All the food that had been made just two days ago was now rotten and maggots wormed their way through the green mush that barely looked like food, pot covers mold, and leaking of a fluid so disgusting it made suckaways seem like a bed of roses in comparison. The stench felt like acid through her nostrils as she banged the door shut and fell into a coughing fit on the floor. it granted her a moment of release from all the shouting that was going on upstairs, anything to not think about what was going on around them and the madness of it all. She went back to ransacking the kitchen before the screams stopped then turned into shrieks and cries.

The sister carried Lucy in her arms down the stairs.

Her lip trembled but remained close as the girls followed her shouting Lucy’s name, grieving the loss of their roommate. Nneka wanted to tell her she couldn’t find anything, and the food had gone all rotten, but the sister barely paid her any mind, treating her like a ghost as she walked past.

She sat on the parlor’s couch, trying the clean the blood of the dead girl’s face even though her face and glasses were strained with blood. The girls gathered around her and cried in sync, shaking her legs and arms as if the girl were in a deep sleep. Nneka took a few moments to realize she was also part of the sobbing mass.

The sister laid Lucy in sister Olivia’s room after cleaning her body and dressing her up. One of the girls got the stuffed teddy bears Lucy used to sleep with and laid them next to her. Her favorite book was placed on the table, the picture of her parents underneath her pillow, and a kiss laid on her forehead by every girl before finally the doors to the room were closed shut.

That night all the girls laid their mattresses together and held on to one another. Nepa had taken the light that afternoon and everyone was afraid to open the windows in fear that the ‘thing’ would get in.

The heat was almost unbearable, yet they held on to each other for comfort. Nneka buried herself into Taye’s back as she held on to her sister. The sister slept with them that night, not changing or cleaning the blood that caked her face and clothing.

“Will everything be, okay?” Kehinda asked her, looking for any kind of reassurance from the only adult that remained.

She rolled her head lazily to look at Kehinda, “Of course.”

The lie wasn’t much comfort, but they all slept for a while.

Nneka was woken up by a faint sound coming from outside their room around midnight. The door that had been locked when they all went to sleep was now wide open, with a strange noise coming from somewhere down the hall. Each beat had a sharp end that sickened her to her core.

Koi koi koi…

She lay in her bed paralyzed as she listened to the night's ghastly tune.

I will go mad, she thought, I will run mad like Lucy did and no one will ever know.

She tried to wake everyone. Shouted even. Yet no one woke from their slumber also like they had been enchanted. She looked around to see a couple of beds empty, a couple being JHS students. She tried to find some rationale for their disappearance but came to nothing. Their bathroom was their dorm so there was no reason to go out. Worried, she swallowed her fear and went out the door.

Now the door to the Cathedral had two see-through windows by its sides that looked like small guardians to the house of the lord, as sister Olivia had described it once. Then you could see the arrays of chairs, the beautiful glass works that made Nneka wonder at the beauty of man’s art, and the giant statue of Mary that had been made in England and shipped to their humble cathedral in the middle of somewhere in Nigeria. Now those windows were blocked by the now black flog that no light could penetrate. the only thing visible thing was the head of the virgin that loomed above the fog.

The sound seemed concentrated in the cathedral yet radiated throughout the dorm like a ticking bomb, each one ‘koi’ turning her stomach.

The fog comes with it, she thought as she quietly turned away, hoping the noise she had earlier hadn’t alerted the thing to her whereabouts

From the hall, she could hear some movement from the kitchen. Two girls were giggling amongst themselves as they feasted on the pulsing mush that was inside the fridge.

“Want some?” she declined.

More laughter could be heard coming from upstairs, five girls giggling to themselves as they hung onto the handrail.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a panic, seeing them swing their bodies.

“You can hear her, can’t you?” One of the girls, Jackie, asked her, “the madam.”

“I don’t care about that just stop playing and go over.” She pleaded with them. “What kind of rough play is this?”

“The madam is here little cold Nneka.” Said another.

To this, Nneka began to scream and shout for help. She knew the distance wasn’t high enough to kill them, yet she screamed anyway.

“We will make her stop you see, she whispered into our ears the plan to appease her.” Explained the other as she ran up the stairs, still screaming for anyone to hear them and help her save them.

“This would be our sacrifice for you.”

“don’t go into the fog.”

She went to the ground fearing to hear that sickly sound of their drop, but it never came. She opened her eyes to see something had kept them suspended in the air, and like a noose, it broke one’s neck whilst the others were being strangled, pee and vomit painted the floor beneath them as they all tried to free themselves from their invisible rope until they finally went limp.

Nneka simply sat and stared at their floating bodies until morning came and the screams came with it.

The two other girls were found dead and rotten in the kitchen. The kitchen was closed shut.

The sister spent the day preparing the girls to venture into the fog.

“Don’t go into the fog it dangerous.” This was answered with a slap from the sister.

No one slept that night. Even the younger ones were tired of crying so they all sat in silence. The sounds of the madam still rang through the walls.

She begged them not to go and told them what the girls had said and what they had not said just in hopes it would make them see reason.

“If you leave you will die.”

“You let Lucy die.” The sister stated, looking her in the eye as she did.

Only Taye and Kehinda stayed with her as the nun and the rest of the girls went into the fog on the fifth day.

To keep themselves occupied as the screams that came from the outside rang through every corner, basking in the last days of their lives.

The next morning, Kehinde and Taye disappeared and so Nneka wandered the halls, imageries of the fun times she had playing with her friends projected like a film in her mind’s eye, as she ignored the hanged girls and the koi koi sound. Dancing to no music at all.

When she got tired, she went to Lucy’s resting place, lucky the keys were on the sister’s mattress, and crawled into the bed, stealing one of the dead girl’s teddies as fell into slumber.

Finally, night came.

The five hanging girls floated up the stairs to the room where Nneka slept with the decaying body of Lucy. They did not speak as she woke and trembled in fear. The floor opened wide like a hungry mouth, wide enough for her to see the slow movement of the flog and the silhouette of a limping woman with the sharp koi koi following each step she took.

[wakandas]

I love your art, and I've been wondering... What are your Oya | Temper aka Idie Okonkwo headcanons? Also what would you love seeing of her in the comics?

thank you!

not sure how specific, but:

- she loves Ayra Starr

- besties with Bling (duh!). She likes a good time, but Bling is more social/charming, having grown up famous.

- cooks dinner every month with Storm, Gentle, and Maggott (Eeny and Meeny stay out of the kitchen).

- prefers ice to fire.

haven't read Mackay's X-Men, but keep her front and center in big adventures and keep her there. Let her make friends and butt heads and be a big damn (complex) hero. Give her proper cultural references and depictions that aren't "scary African men with guns".

[mightymur]

[ISBW] From Patent Memos to Nebula Nods with Wole Talabi

S20 Ep13: In Which Mur Attends Wole Talabi’s Creative Alchemy Transcript   “The primary driver of my sense of success is, ‘do I feel happy with what I’ve done?'” – Wole Talabi Mur chats with Wole Talabi, an engineer turned author (but still engineer). They discuss the Schrodinger’s Cat of publishing, the thrill of rewriting old stories for new audiences, and the joy of challenging the norms of…