Americanah By Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie Novels & Stories

She explained, still crying. "Damn it!!" Alex groaned, hitting his fore head in frustration. "What did the lady look like?" I asked her. "She's dark, very dark. And slim. She looks spoilt and harsh." Amarachi replied. "That could be anybody... Thanks for your time Amarachi, and.. Don't worry, nothing will happen to you." I said and walked out of the house, thinking of who it might have been. I needed to think hard. It was definitely someone that hated me very much to do something like that to me.

She knew that the battle was far from over and that she would have to steel herself for the challenges that lay ahead. With a resolute step, Amari plunged into the heart of the city, ready to face whatever obstacles awaited her on the path to freedom. As Amari ventured deeper into the heart of Chicago, she found herself surrounded by a cacophony of sights and sounds that both thrilled and intimidated her. The towering skyscrapers loomed overhead, casting long shadows over the bustling streets below. Neon signs flashed in an array of colors, advertising everything from luxury hotels to hole-in-the-wall diners. The air was thick with the scent of sizzling street food and the sounds of honking

Because every person in the room understood the same thing. If Adaeze Bello truly decided to speak— then the entire structure could collapse. Not crack. Not weaken. Collapse. Amara looked toward the dark Lagos skyline. Somewhere out there was a woman carrying years of secrets. Years of guilt. Years of fear. And if Chidinma's recording was right— a woman who had once been given a choice. A choice she regretted every day afterward. Damian picked up his keys. Decision already made. "We leave now."

This chapter is in third person p.o.v EIGHT MONTHS LATER Wunmi works as a secretary in one of the biggest clothing business line in Abuja after her graduation. She graduated with First Class Honours from the university of Lagos, during the convocation ceremony was when she was offered so many jobs and gifts. She chose the one at Abuja because it was a business she had an experience in.

“Then go. Sit. But Promise—sit with your own back straight. Don’t let them bend you.” The danfo rattled toward Victoria Island, every pothole jarring her bones. Promise sat pressed between a woman carrying plantains and a man with a bag of spare parts, the city rushing around them in waves of impatience. She could smell roasted groundnuts in the air, mixed with exhaust. Children ran barefoot by the roadside, chasing tyres. Every detail imprinted itself into her mind: Lagos, chaotic, restless, yet alive. The same city that tried to break her was also the one lifting her toward this table. When she stepped into Echelon’s glass building, her reflection stared back at her—nervous, hopeful, raw.

"Well uh. It was nice to meet you Dera. I hope to see you some other time." I loved the way my name rolled off his tongue. "You too Seun." I mutter not bothering to acknowledge the last part of his statement. We part and I ended up buying the purple phone case which was in fact made for my brand of iPhone. Luckily I got home just in time before Damilayo got home. Ini was in fact relieved to see me and I think secret shopping is going to be our secret new thing. A/N: Phew! First chapter. How do y'all like it. When I started writing this book I felt like I wasn't embracing my Culture. I mean as a Nigerian, an igbo girl for the matter. You'd expect me to write more about my culture, my people.

Emma quickly replied. "I'll peel the potatoes first. " Mike said. "Don't worry I'll manage. " Emma told him and asked him to sit. "You wouldn't want to ruin your suit would you? " she asked with a smile while Mike chuckled. "You read African literature too? " he asked her grabbing a copy of Things Fall apart by Chinua Achebe from her table. "Of course. " she replied while peeling the potatoes from the kitchen. Emma was done with the peeling so she came out and sat in the living room with Mike. "I don't judge a book by it's cover. " began Mike. "I don't care who the hell wrote it as far as the title appeals to me, I go ahead and read it. " Mike said while Emma nodded and smiled. They talked a

The city moved at a gentler pace. People bundled in coats hurried through streets. Children built imperfect snowmen. Cars crawled cautiously through intersections. Life continued. Beautifully ordinary. Later that afternoon, Ama found herself walking home alone. Fresh snow crunched beneath her boots. The air carried that unique winter stillness. Not silence. A quieter version of the world. She passed a bookstore. Then stopped. A display window had caught her attention. New releases. Classic novels. Poetry collections. Stories. So many stories. Each one beginning with a choice.

“Just go have your coffee. You don’t want to be late for work today.” But Alex ignored her. He walked to the living room, reached for the remote in her hand, and switched back to the previous channel. His heart nearly stopped. There, on the television screen, was Amarachi Akwarandu. Alive. Breathing. Smiling. She sat elegantly in a studio, her posture regal, her voice strong as she addressed the interviewer. She was being applauded for making history in the United States; becoming the first African woman to build and expand her company in record time, surpassing even established giants.

At school-over, after i didn't answer his first two "Guy, make we dey push." Ahmed practically yanked me out of the assembly hall by my joggers. I was so blissed-out that i didn't mind being dragged around. My mind is a prism, a glassy box full of Chimamandas. She's everywhere in my mind, every thought, every memory, every smile is saturated with her. I must have been looking stupid because Chantelle snapped her fingers repeatedly in my face.