As I am surrounded by my language less and less the longer I stay in the U.S., keeping my radio dial on this CD is all I can do to stay comforted that there is some method to this madness called life.
Today was a relatively chill day. I promised my hosts and a friend that I would fix them a typical Ghanaian meal:Nkati3 wonu. Groundnut Soup. It’s a marriage between a satay and a curry. Slightly thicker than the curry but looser than a satay, although similar texture to both. I bought all the ingredients last…
The “safe Black” aka the African immigrant does not have the history of slavery imprinted on his/her DNA; this NAB is not “angry” because really, what do they have to be angry about? They are being offered a piece of the American Dream, they need only work hard. Which they do, supposedly in contrast to the American Blacks, who though failed by the system, are meant to bear the brunt of this failure.
Americanah is a story of love, culture shock, transition and transformation, discovery and adaptation, and finally race and hair. The latter two fascinate me because they also seem to be what Adichie really wants to talk about, subtly touches on but often does not return to.
I miss Ghana. Everyday! Moments like these– hearing other African writers read about the continent– take me back and make me miss it more.