Short story by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: Sola - Times Online
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Saturday, September 12, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
New short story by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Chimamanda's short story is from Freedom,a collection of short stories in celebration of universal human rights.
The story focuses on a fearless young journalist who is set to expose the corruption by the government of his homeland Gambia.
All in all, what caught me the most is the effortless dexterity with which she handles the characterisation in so short a story. Beautiful work as usual.
You can catch it on this link http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/books/book_extracts/article6812825.ece
The story focuses on a fearless young journalist who is set to expose the corruption by the government of his homeland Gambia.
All in all, what caught me the most is the effortless dexterity with which she handles the characterisation in so short a story. Beautiful work as usual.
You can catch it on this link http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/books/book_extracts/article6812825.ece
Monday, September 7, 2009
SUBMIT YOUR SHORT STORIES, POETRY
Hi,
MuahGuah is poised to be the largest community for authors, aspiring writers and lovers of literature from Nigeria and Africa. Nigeria's is fast becoming the foundation for young literary talent not only in the continent but worldwide. However, there is a lot more that can be done; there remains a lot of untapped talent without the opportunity, training or forum to show what they can do. MuahGuah aims to bridge this gap by bringing together the world renowned, and the lesser if not unknown, in a community where they can share, grow and be celebrated as they rightly should.
We are just starting but on a daily basis, progress will be made and the vision will be achieved.
You are welcome to submit your works on this blog and to comment on and rate others. Our quarterly competition will be revealed soon. Stay connected to us, follow us, become a member, send in suggestions..
Thank you,
MuahGuah
MuahGuah is poised to be the largest community for authors, aspiring writers and lovers of literature from Nigeria and Africa. Nigeria's is fast becoming the foundation for young literary talent not only in the continent but worldwide. However, there is a lot more that can be done; there remains a lot of untapped talent without the opportunity, training or forum to show what they can do. MuahGuah aims to bridge this gap by bringing together the world renowned, and the lesser if not unknown, in a community where they can share, grow and be celebrated as they rightly should.
We are just starting but on a daily basis, progress will be made and the vision will be achieved.
You are welcome to submit your works on this blog and to comment on and rate others. Our quarterly competition will be revealed soon. Stay connected to us, follow us, become a member, send in suggestions..
Thank you,
MuahGuah
Run, Ada, Run by Onyeka Offokaja
“RUN, ADA, RUN!”
She was a fat, dark nurse with a huge backside that could hold a small bowl. For someone with such a domineering stature, it was a surprise it didn’t show when she turned her mouth downwards instead of confronting me, and took the tray of my untouched food away from the room. I listened to the worn out heels of her shoes as the exposed metal clicked against the cemented floor of the hallway. The cleaners had been earlier on and left in their wake the nauseating smell of antiseptic, the nurses had changed shifts about 30 minutes ago. So it was quiet now except for the faint sound of a television somewhere not too far off.
My eyes rested indifferently on the still form of my room mate. I couldn’t remember her name only that she was 25 years old, from the ER ward and was recuperating nicely. She had stopped snoring sometime around 3am and hardly stirred since then. The bumps on her face had decreased somewhat revealing high cheek bones and soft, comely features.
Bitter Saliva welled up in my mouth making me cringe as I swallowed. My body ached everywhere but at least the head ache wasn’t as severe as it was some hours ago. After the pain subsided I sat very still, propped up by two stuffy pillows and willed my heart to stop beating. The pain had brought me sharply back to my reality. A lump rose to my throat. With each ticking of the clock my heart contracted and my body grew stiff. I waited powerlessly for 9am to come.
I cannot recall a particular moment when I knew fear; it just grew on me. I didn’t need to know its name, I knew its person well. Fear was my shadow. I had grown accustomed to not speaking (even if I wanted to my swollen lips would not let me); I learnt not to look into people’s eyes, all I found there was pity. So I kept my eyes averted and glued my tongue to the roof of my mouth patiently waiting for time to pass. Seldom did I question myself with deep words. I knew all the answers by heart.
“Why do I take all that from him?”
“Because he’s my husband”
“Why is he violent?”
“Bad circumstances”
“Why do I still stay?”
“Because I love him”… Because I love him?
When I was younger and “wiser”, my mother said to me in the softest of voices, with a pleading yet resigned tone;
“Love is seldom a good judge of character,” She said in caution. “That is why you have a head Nne.”
I do not remember my “smart” retort but I believed “deep down” that Henry was a good man. All I had to be was good and he would change.
“He just called me names that’s all”
When we got married I didn’t see him twice a week as was the case while we dated. I saw him everyday; when I woke and before I slept. The word’s turned to outbursts and then slaps. I thought they would go because he always apologized afterwards until I turned into a full-fledged punching bag.
It was my fault, I told myself. Then I chalked it down to his present unemployed position; difficulties, I told myself. He came home drunk, called me the devil and pounded on me like he was preparing pounded yam.
One day the tests showed “positive” and I believed in my heart that he would change. For a while the prospect of being a Dad calmed him down and softened his approach to me. I dreamed again. That dream died the day
He threw me off the bed and broke my wedding crystal vase on me. I felt God was close by when the power supply was cutoff. I groped in the dark, deafened by the rapid beating of my heart. Unseeing shadows that lurked in the corners seemed to breathe and snicker. Eyes as cold as Hell seemed to bore into me in the dark… When I found the door I ran into the midnight until my legs refused to move. Dawn found me in a street I did not know with blood on my white, cotton night dress. I lost my unborn child, my unborn hope. God was once again far. That day I seized to dream, seized to think and clung senselessly to my lot; seeking, asking and drinking from a cup of my piteous existence yet never getting satisfied.
The sound of his footsteps approaching snapped me back to reality. My heart beat faster to a rhythm I knew by heart, my body stiffened visibly, I know my eyes exposed my fear. All my preparation could not reinforce me for this meeting. In just seconds my gaze was drawn to cold, gray windows of Hell. I swallowed painfully once again and managed a terrified smile. Henry’s eyes looked like a puppy dog’s eyes now but there still remained the unmistaken glint of horror. They entranced me to remain in captivity; it held my life with its compelling force. His seemingly, harmless 5”8 foot frame approached the bed, only I could understand its strength. He walked up to the bed and stood a while looking down at me in a patronizing manner with his delicate lips turned down ever so faintly. Warm fingers caressed the sensitive flesh of my face and I felt skin crawl. It traced my cheek bone down to my jaw, massaged my neck in a sinister way and drew some locks of my hair to cover my black eye. It was then he smiled. It was clean and bright and no one on earthy looked more like the lieutenant of Hell.
“Be a good girl and go brush your hair”
I got up obediently, trying to move as fast as my feeble body allowed to prevent him from getting irritated.
As I clumsily brushed my dry tresses to cover my swollen, black eyes, I looked into haunted eyes and the strangest thoughts passed through my mind.
“What if...”
The voice began surprisingly bold. I had to look back in fear that he read my mind. He had his back turned to me and the voice continued in a deliberate tone;
“What if you could walk away?”
They were simple words that dared question my reason, dared stand up to fear. They quickened my heart and made my memory race backwards with incredible speed and precision:
The last two days; my first visit to the hospital, the curios glances of family and the pitiful faces of friends; cries of pain and screams of terror; stars before my eyes; my heavy breathing in the dark, the pain in my legs as I rain the day I thought I would die; so much red on my white night dress; broken glasses; his mouth moving at the altar and then I was standing alone in a place and time that didn’t know Henry. At that moment time stood still. Henry was standing just behind me and starring at me through the mirror. I think he had been talking and I hadn’t heard a word. A strange sensation enveloped me; My heart was beating so fast I thought it would burst yet there was an undeniable element of weightlessness that is hard to explain…
I didn’t think. I just did. In that moment of hope lay my possibility. I ran. My body screamed in pain and I fell as Henry tried to grab me. I yelped in pain as we crumpled to the floor with his full weight on me. From somewhere I cannot tell an amazing strength came upon me and I shoved him off me, picked up myself and ran, out of the room, through the hall way, down the stairs and towards the entrance. My ankle hurt really badly, my muscles squealed in agony but I could not stop. I could hear a woman screaming so close to me ears. When I turned round and found no one I realized that it was I screaming. I knew Henry was dangerously close I could smell the venom of his rage. But I kept on running because I knew that if I stopped I might not have a second window of escape.
“Run, Ada. Run!”
A voice screamed in my head against the angry call of my husband. It was so that I ran and didn’t look back. The harder I ran, the more excruciating the pain my body felt, however, his voice grew distant _ he was fading away!
A woman was vacating a yellow taxi at the front door and I threw myself in. The first real feeling of joy I had felt in years welled up in my heart and I heard my self laugh; Amidst the pain, the fear, the desperation, God was on my side. I said the first address that came to mind and the driver drove off. Only then did I look at the rear view mirror: Henry was running hopelessly after the cab. He was a small figure and decreasing by the moment. This is the only image I allow myself to keep of Henry. I was riding away with the odds that lay in two simple words; “What If?” I found hope.
She was a fat, dark nurse with a huge backside that could hold a small bowl. For someone with such a domineering stature, it was a surprise it didn’t show when she turned her mouth downwards instead of confronting me, and took the tray of my untouched food away from the room. I listened to the worn out heels of her shoes as the exposed metal clicked against the cemented floor of the hallway. The cleaners had been earlier on and left in their wake the nauseating smell of antiseptic, the nurses had changed shifts about 30 minutes ago. So it was quiet now except for the faint sound of a television somewhere not too far off.
My eyes rested indifferently on the still form of my room mate. I couldn’t remember her name only that she was 25 years old, from the ER ward and was recuperating nicely. She had stopped snoring sometime around 3am and hardly stirred since then. The bumps on her face had decreased somewhat revealing high cheek bones and soft, comely features.
Bitter Saliva welled up in my mouth making me cringe as I swallowed. My body ached everywhere but at least the head ache wasn’t as severe as it was some hours ago. After the pain subsided I sat very still, propped up by two stuffy pillows and willed my heart to stop beating. The pain had brought me sharply back to my reality. A lump rose to my throat. With each ticking of the clock my heart contracted and my body grew stiff. I waited powerlessly for 9am to come.
I cannot recall a particular moment when I knew fear; it just grew on me. I didn’t need to know its name, I knew its person well. Fear was my shadow. I had grown accustomed to not speaking (even if I wanted to my swollen lips would not let me); I learnt not to look into people’s eyes, all I found there was pity. So I kept my eyes averted and glued my tongue to the roof of my mouth patiently waiting for time to pass. Seldom did I question myself with deep words. I knew all the answers by heart.
“Why do I take all that from him?”
“Because he’s my husband”
“Why is he violent?”
“Bad circumstances”
“Why do I still stay?”
“Because I love him”… Because I love him?
When I was younger and “wiser”, my mother said to me in the softest of voices, with a pleading yet resigned tone;
“Love is seldom a good judge of character,” She said in caution. “That is why you have a head Nne.”
I do not remember my “smart” retort but I believed “deep down” that Henry was a good man. All I had to be was good and he would change.
“He just called me names that’s all”
When we got married I didn’t see him twice a week as was the case while we dated. I saw him everyday; when I woke and before I slept. The word’s turned to outbursts and then slaps. I thought they would go because he always apologized afterwards until I turned into a full-fledged punching bag.
It was my fault, I told myself. Then I chalked it down to his present unemployed position; difficulties, I told myself. He came home drunk, called me the devil and pounded on me like he was preparing pounded yam.
One day the tests showed “positive” and I believed in my heart that he would change. For a while the prospect of being a Dad calmed him down and softened his approach to me. I dreamed again. That dream died the day
He threw me off the bed and broke my wedding crystal vase on me. I felt God was close by when the power supply was cutoff. I groped in the dark, deafened by the rapid beating of my heart. Unseeing shadows that lurked in the corners seemed to breathe and snicker. Eyes as cold as Hell seemed to bore into me in the dark… When I found the door I ran into the midnight until my legs refused to move. Dawn found me in a street I did not know with blood on my white, cotton night dress. I lost my unborn child, my unborn hope. God was once again far. That day I seized to dream, seized to think and clung senselessly to my lot; seeking, asking and drinking from a cup of my piteous existence yet never getting satisfied.
The sound of his footsteps approaching snapped me back to reality. My heart beat faster to a rhythm I knew by heart, my body stiffened visibly, I know my eyes exposed my fear. All my preparation could not reinforce me for this meeting. In just seconds my gaze was drawn to cold, gray windows of Hell. I swallowed painfully once again and managed a terrified smile. Henry’s eyes looked like a puppy dog’s eyes now but there still remained the unmistaken glint of horror. They entranced me to remain in captivity; it held my life with its compelling force. His seemingly, harmless 5”8 foot frame approached the bed, only I could understand its strength. He walked up to the bed and stood a while looking down at me in a patronizing manner with his delicate lips turned down ever so faintly. Warm fingers caressed the sensitive flesh of my face and I felt skin crawl. It traced my cheek bone down to my jaw, massaged my neck in a sinister way and drew some locks of my hair to cover my black eye. It was then he smiled. It was clean and bright and no one on earthy looked more like the lieutenant of Hell.
“Be a good girl and go brush your hair”
I got up obediently, trying to move as fast as my feeble body allowed to prevent him from getting irritated.
As I clumsily brushed my dry tresses to cover my swollen, black eyes, I looked into haunted eyes and the strangest thoughts passed through my mind.
“What if...”
The voice began surprisingly bold. I had to look back in fear that he read my mind. He had his back turned to me and the voice continued in a deliberate tone;
“What if you could walk away?”
They were simple words that dared question my reason, dared stand up to fear. They quickened my heart and made my memory race backwards with incredible speed and precision:
The last two days; my first visit to the hospital, the curios glances of family and the pitiful faces of friends; cries of pain and screams of terror; stars before my eyes; my heavy breathing in the dark, the pain in my legs as I rain the day I thought I would die; so much red on my white night dress; broken glasses; his mouth moving at the altar and then I was standing alone in a place and time that didn’t know Henry. At that moment time stood still. Henry was standing just behind me and starring at me through the mirror. I think he had been talking and I hadn’t heard a word. A strange sensation enveloped me; My heart was beating so fast I thought it would burst yet there was an undeniable element of weightlessness that is hard to explain…
I didn’t think. I just did. In that moment of hope lay my possibility. I ran. My body screamed in pain and I fell as Henry tried to grab me. I yelped in pain as we crumpled to the floor with his full weight on me. From somewhere I cannot tell an amazing strength came upon me and I shoved him off me, picked up myself and ran, out of the room, through the hall way, down the stairs and towards the entrance. My ankle hurt really badly, my muscles squealed in agony but I could not stop. I could hear a woman screaming so close to me ears. When I turned round and found no one I realized that it was I screaming. I knew Henry was dangerously close I could smell the venom of his rage. But I kept on running because I knew that if I stopped I might not have a second window of escape.
“Run, Ada. Run!”
A voice screamed in my head against the angry call of my husband. It was so that I ran and didn’t look back. The harder I ran, the more excruciating the pain my body felt, however, his voice grew distant _ he was fading away!
A woman was vacating a yellow taxi at the front door and I threw myself in. The first real feeling of joy I had felt in years welled up in my heart and I heard my self laugh; Amidst the pain, the fear, the desperation, God was on my side. I said the first address that came to mind and the driver drove off. Only then did I look at the rear view mirror: Henry was running hopelessly after the cab. He was a small figure and decreasing by the moment. This is the only image I allow myself to keep of Henry. I was riding away with the odds that lay in two simple words; “What If?” I found hope.
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