The first time I read Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Purple Hibiscus, I remember feeling so frustrated at Kambili. I was angered by her passiveness in the disturbed world around her. I completed Purple Hibiscus faster than any other book I had borrowed from my sister’s scanty bookshelf, which also served as our family library. My sister and I would stay up late discussing Kambili until the cool backyard breeze serenaded us to sleep. I was so fond of Adichie as a young academic in the Nigerian school system that I was inseparable from her books. I like to describe her as my Nigerian Jane Austen.
The familiarity of Adichie’s characters was a novel experience in our time. Adichie wasn’t just writing fiction, she was creating new imaginative worlds that mirrored my Nigerian upbringing. Years later, you can imagine my excitement when the person who changed my perception of literature was invited to ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾.
Adichie’s visit to ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ to receive an honorary degree during Commencement felt as remarkable as her novels. Months beforehand, the student body sparked with excitement when the communications department announced our three honorary degree recipients. From Snapchat chronicles to Orient coverage, the campus atmosphere remained giddy with anticipation. Adichie’s poise and elegance graced campus on the eve of Commencement, hours before students, faculty members, and Maine residents filled Kanbar Auditorium to learn from her conversation with professor Jennifer Scanlon. She began by addressing the vivacious crowd of mostly black students, myself included, in the left corner of the auditorium, from where loud cheers echoed, as students welcomed Adichie for her important representation of the African diaspora. The College’s effort to recognize and appreciate her work was significant for students like myself, and it made us feel truly included and valued at ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾.
Adichie’s formative years were influenced by intellectual engagement in Nigerian university settings. Her conversation touched on the insidiousness of colonial education, which was similar to my experience attending private schools in Lagos. She described her early short stories about white children playing in snow, written that way because, she said, “I thought that books were things in which white people did things because the books that we read were white people doing things.”
Adichie’s own childhood experiences fueled her desire to write the type of stories that had been ignored in the literature she read during her years of scholarship. Her books have shaped discourse about identity, immigration, and culture.
Her work creates a common ground for all people by creating characters that navigate gender roles and femininity in a Nigerian context. Adichie is a notable feminist author, and ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾’s recognition suggests a consciousness fitting for future generations. ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾’s origins as an all-male institution has made conversations about womanhood more salient on campus.
Adichie’s novels, in my formative years, created a reference for educated African women previously absent in the books we read. Equally, Adichie has shaped the cultural and social understanding of feminism in African contexts and beyond. Her famous quote, “We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller,” sparked a worldwide consciousness about how we raise children of different genders.
Adichie’s visit to ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ was a dream come true, and the opportunity to share a meal with her and other Nigerian students made my experience even more memorable. As I spoke to her, my childhood inspiration, I felt like I was home. She asked about my experiences at ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ and showered me with advice and insight. Like every Nigerian aunty you will meet, she advised me to wear layers and stay warm in Maine. After I shamelessly asked for a selfie, we laughed about how she’s mastered all her angles.
Before parting, she encouraged me to “make ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ your home, and make us [Nigerians] proud.”
For a moment, Brunswick embraced chatters of Igbo vernacular that its walls may never have heard. As I begin the last of four transformative years here, I reflect on my journey at ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾. The older students I met here have said their farewells, the mentors I walked behind have sprinted forward, my senior class is waiting patiently at the door, and the ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ collective continues to grow and resonate globally.
Professor Hanetha Vete-Congolo congratulates Adichie as she receives her degree.
This story first appeared in the Fall 2018 issue of ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ Magazine.
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