How Adichie Fell Off Her Pedestal

Throughout the history of my blog, I've always revered Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. And In a recent post in which I praised her writing and excitedly looked forward to reading her latest book Americanah, I also spoke about my reticence about meeting her face to face. I’d heard her speak live twice but each time I always left (or hid) rather than meet with her or have her sign my books. This was because I didn't want my image of her – an image in which she is a gloriously brilliant and noble genius devoid of any human failings or flaws – to be ruined. 

I didn't want the real Adichie to disappoint me.

But this past week, I've read many things that have knocked Adichie off the pedestal she occupied in my mind, and the truth is, I saw it coming.

In a recent interview she did with American blogger Aaron Aden, Adichie came off as intelligent, measured, forthright and accomplished, but also condescending and egotistical. She described Elnathan John, a Nigerian writer who had attended one of her writing workshops (and who, by the way, has has THE best ‘About Me’ Blogger Intro I have ever read) in a manner that belittles him and exalts her. Here’s the offending part of the interview:

AB: I would love to ask you about the Caine Prize. I find it interesting that so many Nigerians are on the short list this year—that it’s four Nigerians out of five . . . 

CA: Umm, why is that a problem? Watch it. 

AB: Well, none of them are you! 

CA: Elnathan was one of my boys in my workshop. But what’s all this over-privileging of the Caine Prize, anyway? I don’t want to talk about the Caine Prize, really. I suppose it’s a good thing, but for me it’s not the arbiter of the best fiction in Africa. It’s never been. I know that Chinelo is on the short list, too. But I haven’t even read the stories—I’m just not very interested. I don’t go the Caine Prize to look for the best in African fiction. 

AB: Where do you go? 

CA: I go to my mailbox, where my workshop people send me their stories. I could give you a list of ten—mostly in Nigeria—writers who I think are very good. They’re not on the Caine Prize short list. 

This condescension irked Elnathan, who wrote a passive-aggressive retort to Adichie in his blog. Nigeria’s literary community were also irked, and took to newspapers, blogs and Twitter to vent. I only heard about the beef via a Twitter link to a story written by Sylvia Ofili in response to Adichie's comment that the best in African writing where found in her mailbox. 

Nigerian writer Elnathan John and Chimamanda Adichie

The reverence, accolades and praise she has been showered with since her debut novel Purple Hisbiscus seems to have elevated Adichie’s sense of self to a level where she now looks down from on high on the rest of us. Many reader comments in response to the Elnathan Caine Prize Beef have also confirmed my fears, as many of those who have met her state that Adichie is cold, distant and smiles with her lips but not her eyes during meet and greets. One girl recalled how, after she met Adichie in London following a talk, the writer scolded her for wearing a weave.

It is sad, but not surprising, to see that brilliance has been marred by humanity. But isn't that always the way? I never expected her to be perfect, that was why I preferred to admire her from afar. I never wanted to see this unpleasant side of her. I caught glimpses of her personality from the female characters she writes about, from Ifemelu to Kainene to Ujunwa, who are almost always quietly acidic and saturnine. This characteristic reminds me of a couple of friends I have, who are also brilliant, accomplished and loyal friends, so it didn't bother me. But I think she crossed the line by belittling Elnathan, who also stated in his blog that she emailed him scolding him for tweeting against her natural hair, and refused to speak to him afterwards despite his apologies. Adichie had also scolded a Nigerian magazine for referring to her as 'The Glamour Girl of Nigerian Writing', stating that it was an inappropriate description because she was past 30. Fair point. Yet she called a man above 30 ‘one of her boys.’

So Adichie has now come off the pedestal I had put her on. But it’s OK. I still love her writing, and Americanah was sublime. I loved the acerbic commentary on what it means to be Black in America, but not only to be African-American, but American African. I loved the dissection of liberal America both white, Black and other, loved the way the book weaves in the British Black experience too and the breezy but hard-hitting blog posts. The books says EVERYTHING I've felt, thought, said and experienced about race and Nigerian life and wealth, and much more that rang true, and the love story wasn't too bad either. 

Americanah felt so familiar. And unlike most people who read it that are either American, British or Nigerian but cannot always identify with all three cultures, I can identify with it all. I understood and recognised the American idiosyncrasies as well as the British nuances and the Nigerian ways, even the subtle and overt privileges of being an 'Americanah' (a Nigerian with experiences of living abroad). 

The best part for me was when Ifemelu described the initial shock of having to go into a capsule-like enclosure whilst entering and exiting a Nigerian bank. I laughed out loud whilst reading it, because I felt the exact same way when I had to do that for the first time, it was like "What the hell? What's going on here? How do I get out? Get me out!" 

If Americanah was a person, we would hit it off instantly and be best friends for life, because I so get it. Adichie writes very well. She says she spends a lot of time to construct the best sentences, and it shows. How’s this for a truth so well told:

“What I've noticed since been [in England] is that many English people are in awe of America but also deeply resent it,” Obinze added. “It’s the resentment of a parent whose child has become far more beautiful and with a far more interesting life.”

The best review of Americanah I've read is by Katherine Schulz (read it here) which does well to express Adichie's success in the ambition and scope of her book, as well as the fact that she captures and perceives race in America and Britain so well because she is an outsider.

Adichie is still, for me, the best writer of our generation that Nigeria has produced. I will not cut my nose to spite my face by denigrating her completely due to my new-found dislike for her personality as expressed in an interview and other exchanges. And although these are but minute insights into her character and in no way account for the totality of her as a person, it is enough for me to shake my head and lament on the damage our egos can cause. The praise she receives is justified, I just hope that in future she will speak and deal with her fans with more diplomacy, humility and wisdom. 

I, for one, now have an empty pedestal in my mind. And it shall henceforth remain empty because no human being can ever be above reproach.

Religion in Nigeria: God vs Money

Writing about religion can be a touchy subject, but it's too all-encompassing in Nigeria to ignore. I’ll focus more on Christianity because it’s what I'm most familiar with.

Religion and National Identity

OK, so in Nigeria, there is no such thing as being an atheist. You’re either a Christian or a Muslim. You may have back-slidded or are no longer active in the religion you were brought up in, but everyone identifies with one faith or the other. When it’s time to marry you choose a Church or Mosque, and when asked what religion you are (if it isn't obvious by your name, appearance or tribe) you know which one of the two to answer.

Atheism is a Western construct born of contentment and too much leisure time to contemplate unknowable things. But many Nigerians are still trying to make ends meet and the belief in God consoles in the face of hardship. Unbelief is an expensive luxury. Yet even the wealthy fully retain their religious identity and take pride in contributing gifts to their church/mosque and publically thank God for all their wealth (no matter how ill-gotten it is). It doesn't occur to us to question if there is a God, because there’s hardly an arena from which He is absent.

From the Senate to Aso Rock, Christian and Muslim prayers are said every morning and politicians sprinkle their speeches with scripture. The country’s first lady gave a public testimony in the Presidential Villa’s chapel recently thanking God for keeping her alive through her illness, and the President is often filmed in church services. He was once pictured kneeling in front of a prominent pastor who prayed for him.

President Goodluck Jonathan kneeling in front of Pastor Adeboye who is praying for him 

The division between Church and State is both impossible and undesirable and the lines are often blurred, with pastors running for President and church ministers moonlighting as government ministers.

Religion also strongly permeates the workplace. I was shocked to learn that you had to not only state your date of birth, country of origin and marital status prominently on your CV, but your religion also. Coming from the UK where such personal details are expressly banned so as to avoid discrimination, it was alarming.

Companies have churches and mosques in their premises and Muslims take time off to pray during the day. During Ramadan (the Muslim month of fasting) last year, Nigeria’s (and the world’s) richest Black man Aliko Dangote – a Muslim – donated bags of his company’s rice, sugar and spaghetti to all the Muslims in my company. It’s normal to invite your boss to your church and have lengthy, passionate discussions about spirituality with your colleagues.

Businesses have names like ‘Grace Abounding General Store’ or  ‘God’s Favour Hairdressers’ and many vehicles have religious inscriptions on them: ‘With God Nothing is Impossible,’ ‘My God can Move Mountains.’ Religion is present at every birth, marriage and funeral, and at an open air garden I visited where people gather to drink alcohol and watch live entertainment on a stage, a group of dancers performed to popular Church songs and the MC punctuated his announcements with religious phrases as freely as if he was at the pulpit. 

Religious phrases seep into daily conversations: 

How’s work? Oh, we thank God. 

Wow, you really wrote this great article? Yes, Glory to God.  

Will you come tomorrow? Yes, by God’s Grace.

The Nigerian national football team pray together before and after every match, football fans call radio stations imploring God to help the teams they support, thank God when their team wins and consider how “God was humbling the proud” when they lose.

In Nollywood and Kannywood movies, much of the storyline is religion-centred and the credits always include variations of the phrase ‘To God be the Glory’. Musicians talk about their faith on Twitter, comedians espouse on the hilarities of religion in their acts and televangelists take over the airwaves every Sunday, with lengthy Christian and Muslim sermons broadcasted during special national events. In interviews, everyone from politicians to celebrities brim over with praise to their God.

Religion isn’t a private hobby like in the UK, where the former Prime Minister Tony Blair famously said ‘We don’t do God.’ Here God is an ever-present reality and everyone knows Him personally.

Serving Two Masters

Yet I’ve never lived in a city where the pursuit of money is an obsession. Money not only guarantees you respect, better services and dignity, it also opens doors that merit and excellence cannot. Money is king and you’re nothing without it. This fresh, hot desire for wealth clashes with the fervent Christianity in that the faithful are supposed to uphold higher virtues like joy, peace, goodness, generosity and humility, yet all everyone prays for is for more money.

Prosperity preachers are drawing millions of people (and money) to their churches with promises that God will bless their congregation, not with gifts or fruits of the spirit, but with more money, houses and cars. One prominent preacher owns four private jets and a for-profit university that most of his worshippers cannot afford, and a church I went to surprised the Pastor with the gift of a brand new Jeep, and everyone walked out of the church to gather around the car, taking pictures and praising God whilst the Pastor joyfully prayed for the donors and encouraged everyone to have faith so that theirs will come soon.

Pastor Oyedepo in one of his four Private Jets worth N4.5 billion ($30 million) 

Instead of flaunting ostentatious wealth that’s out of step with the majority of the country, aren’t Christians supposed to be spiritual and content like Jesus was and be able to identify with the poor? But how can a jet-owning, Gucci-wearing, Bahamas-holidaying, Lexus-driving ‘Man of God’ relate with a tomato-seller?

Except for special occasions, I’ve stopped going to church here. The materialism was too much for me. Sure I strive to earn more and be more, but I hate seeing the flagrant exaltation of money in the pulpit, where those that pay tithes are venerated by the Pastor, and I don’t want to listen to a sermon about ‘How to Succeed in Business’. There are business seminars for that. I came to church to feed my spirit not bolster my pocket.

However, Pastors are only giving people what they want. Everyone wants to be rich and hear that ‘This is your month of Increase.’ Then there is the transactional nature of it all: If you sow seeds of cash you reap material rewards, in effect, pay the pastor and God will pay you. As if God’s only gift to a Christian is riches. 

After all, what does it profit a man to gain the whole world but lose his soul?

The Bible says that you cannot serve both God and Money, but in Nigeria every knee bows to both.

Witches, Charms and all that Jazz

In Africa, God and his angels exist as much as the devil and his demons. The belief in spirits and witchcraft has not being totally eradicated by organised religion, and Juju or Jazz is real for Nigerian Christians and Muslims. Even the churches have deliverance services for repentant witches and hold prayers to break generational curses.

The influence and effects of dark arts is common knowledge and incidents of bewitchment and spells are spoken of as casually as discussions about the weather.

I've heard all kinds of stories from people and the media, of live animals buried in front of shops to lure customers in; people engaging in spells to close someone’s womb, win someone’s heart or kill a rival; children and adults dismembered for ‘money rituals;’ a secret room housing a human head that vomits an unending supply of money, and tribes were the dead walk themselves to their graves.

One newspaper reported on an old couple who were left terrified one night when a naked woman fell from the ceiling unto their beds, despite the room and house been locked. The woman confessed to the police that she was a witch flying to India but got lost.

What am I to do with such stories, told by otherwise sane people? I know Lucifer and his angels are real enough, but he seems really busy in Nigeria. Witchcraft disappeared from England centuries ago, and it’s like the devil relocated to Africa, or just became more adept at subterfuge in advanced societies but takes off his disguise and runs free in Nigeria.

Religion as a National Pacifier

I do think though, that religion weakens the resolve for justice. A doctor breaks the leg of a newborn whilst pulling it out of the womb carelessly, but the new parents and their relatives are against ruffling feathers and say, “Thank God the baby is healthy, we’ll leave everything else in the hands of God.” Why not sue or complain so that the incompetent medic is prevented from causing further harm to other innocent babies, and so the hospital can compensate the family for the extra medical bills? Preventable misfortunes and accidents are accepted without complaint because ‘God is in control’ and people remain passive, resigning themselves to poverty caused by governmental ineptitude. ‘Suffering and smiling’ as Fela sings.

A church in Abuja, Nigeria

That Nigerians topped an international poll as the happiest people on earth is both laudable and sad, because most don’t have a lot to smile about, but the comfort and resolve they get from God fortifies them and keeps their disposition cheerful.

If the famous sociologist Karl Marx was right and religion is the opium of the people, then Nigerians are high on their addiction, much to the satisfaction of the ruling elite. The collective national crutch that is religion quells revolution, maintains the status quo, and keeps everyone’s mind on personal advancement. Money is the answer to every prayer.

Nigeria is a country where God reigns, but it is the Almighty Naira that rules.