(By Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie) -
Chinua Achebe at 82: “We Remember Differently”
I have met Chinua Achebe
only three times. The first, at the National Arts Club in Manhattan, I joined
the admiring circle around him. A gentle-faced man in a wheelchair.
“Good evening, sir. I’m
Chimamanda Adichie,” I said, and he replied, mildly, “I thought you were
running away from me.”
I mumbled, nervous,
grateful for the crush of people around us. I had been running away from him.
After my first novel was published, I received an email from his son. My dad has just read your novel and liked it
very much. He wants you to call him at this number. I read it over and over, breathless with excitement. But I never
called. A few years later, my editor sent Achebe a manuscript of my second
novel. She did not tell me, because she wanted to shield me from the
possibility of disappointment. One afternoon, she called. “Chimamanda,
are you sitting down? I have wonderful news.” She read me the blurb Achebe had
just sent her. We do not usually
associate wisdom with beginners, but here is a new writer endowed with the gift
of ancient storytellers. Adichie knows what is at stake, and what to do about
it. She is fearless or she would not have taken on the intimidating horror of
Nigeria’s civil war. Adichie came almost fully
made. Afterwards, I held on to the phone and wept. I have memorized those
words. In my mind, they glimmer still, the validation of a writer whose work
had validated me.
