Your Anatomy Is A Mystery That Nobody

What I've Come To Learn Is That The World Is Never Saved In Grand Messianic Gestures, But In The Simple Accumulation Of Gentle, Soft, Almost Invisible Acts Of Compassion, Everyday Acts Of Compassion. In South Africa They Have A Phrase Called Ubuntu. Ubuntu Comes Out Of A Philosophy That Says, The Only Way For Me To Be Human Is For You To Reflect My Humanity Back At Me.

Nigerians Are Everywhere. There's An Old Joke, Particularly About The Ibos, That When You Finally Land On Mars, You're Going To Find A Nigerian There Who Has A Shop That Is Selling Coca-cola--who Took A Speculative Trip 20 Years Ago And Has Been Waiting For Everyone Else To Arrive.

Elvis, Stop Dat! You Know It Is Taboo To Whistle At Night. You Will Attract A Spirit.

The Problem Is We're Looking For Something That Doesn't Exist. We're Looking For Authenticity. There Is No Such Thing As Authenticity. There Is Either Good Art Or Bad Art. Art Is Never About Its Content. It's About Its Scaffolding.

My Books Are Often Shelved Around Those Of Chinua Achebe And Margaret Atwood, Or Chimamanda Adichie And Monica Ali. All Of This Depends, Of Course, On The Bookstore And How Conversant The Shelf Stocker Is With The Alphabet.