You Americans, Always Peering Under People's Beds

At Some Point I Was A Happyafricanfeminist Who Does Not Hate Men. And Who Likes Lip Gloss And Who Wears High Heels For Herself But Not For Men.

That Her Relationship With Him Was Like Being Content In A House But Always Sitting By The Window And Looking Out

Is Love This Misguided Need To Have You Beside Me Most Of The Time? Is Love This Safety I Feel In Our Silences? Is It This Belonging, This Completeness?

She Rested Her Head Against His And Felt, For The First Time, What She Would Often Feel With Him: A Self-affection. He Made Her Like Herself. With Him, She Was At Ease; Her Skin Felt As Though It Was Her Right Size.. It Seemed So Natural, To Talk To Him About Odd Things. She Had Never Done That Before. The Trust, So Sudden And Yet So Complete, And The Intimacy, Frightened Her.. But Now She Could Think Only Of All The Things She Yet Wanted To Tell Him, Wanted To Do With Him.

I Live Half The Year In Nigeria, The Other Half In The U.s. But Home Is Nigeria - It Always Will Be. I Consider Myself A Nigerian Who Is Comfortable In The World. I Look At It Through Nigerian Eyes.