officer had examined my foodstuffs as if they were spiders, her gloved fingers poking at the waterproof bags of ground egusi and dried onugbu leaves and uziza seeds,
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while the American customs officer raked through my suitcase had left me woozy,
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Ukamaka, not everything is about Udenna.”
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Somebody once told me that I am the straightest gay person she knew
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You looked too gentle to be Nigerian
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Only God can save our country.”
Us. Our country. Those words united them in a common loss, and for a moment she felt close to him.
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as if she needed to know the details of his morning ritual, that he listened to BBC News online because there was never anything of substance in American news.
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I am Nigerian. I live on the third floor. I came so that we can pray about what is happening in our country.
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The knock surprised her because nobody ever came to her door unannounced—this after all was America, where people called before they visited
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On the day a plane crashed in Nigeria, the same day the Nigerian first lady died,