One Writers Beginnings: Chimamanda's Story Rooted in Africa

Chimamanda gives second annual Eudora Welty lecture. 

I stood a little downcast in front of the Lincoln theatre, the air chill nibbling at my extremities. With hands tucked deep into my jacket, I waited with anticipation for a kind stranger to come along. See, I’d hoped to purchase a ticket to the Second Annual EudoraWelty Lecture but they were sold out. The lady at the ticket booth apologized. I held on to the prospect that someone would show up with an extra ticket. People begun to trickle in. Girlfriends who’d planned an evening out spoke in excited tones and took selfies in front of the lecture poster. They showed their tickets and stood in line, while I a little envious thought about heading home to my family and getting in from the chilly outdoors. Then it happened.  A lady walked up to me and mentioned that her friend had bought an extra ticket and just like that I had a close to front row seat to listen to female African writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche’s lecture on “One Writer’s Beginnings”.

Her lecture centered around four values that informed her writing; home, family, church and school. Her articulate narrative and funny anecdotes sprinkled with a good dose of self-awareness held us captive. Standing in radiant red, in the center of the spotlight, she serenaded the audience with her clear calm voice that peaked and dipped at alternate junctures. She shared stories of her childhood, of life on the University of Nigeria campus. Her reading passion rooted in her father’s study, and watered by books such as Pacesetters, Mills and Boon and James Hadley Chase. These books wonderful but foreign informed her imagination growing up.

   

Her description of life in a middle-income family in Nigeria left the audience a tad jealous. She, a privileged African living in a close-knit family without the need to question her origin. With parents and grandparents, brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, she developed a sense of belonging by simply living in community. I was reminded of Africa’s dynamism. I nodded in agreement occasionally mumbling to myself for she told the African story like I couldn’t and yet I identified as though we grew up together. She painted a picture of a rich and industrious continent. The juicy mangoes picked from a tree in the compound. The luxury of slaughtering one of the chickens for Sunday lunch. The outdoor markets, steaming with life and color and stories with no end. She owned her story and told it well, no one could contend her experience as she talked about the Africa she knew and grew up in. An Africa she loved and was proud of. The audience was dead silent as we each secretly reached back into our past to compare and contrast our origins – some in envy, some in amazement, some in agreement. She weaved in themes from her famous lecture – The Danger of A Single Story. Africa is not all starving, malnourished children or potbellied corrupt government officials, it has educated hardworking, fun loving people too.

Her lecture and in her writing, she shows the power of authentic human truths curved out of experience and conviction. She also shows how being rooted to a physical place  informs narrative and self-awareness. Motivated and inspired at the close of the lecture, I joined the procession of energized ladies and a few gentlemen as we walked out of the theater to parked cars, cabs and Uber drivers. As the crowds thinned, I crossed the road, slopped down into the U Street Metro station. I tucked into a corner train seat for an hour of contemplation thank full for my physical heritage that springs from Usuk, Serere, Kampala, Kigezi, Kisoro, Tororo, America but more my spiritual heritage rooted in the cross of Christ.

Happy Sunday!