WHAT MAKES NIGERIAN WRITER CHIMAMANDA NGOZI ADICHIE THICK
#ChimamandaAdichi
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie born (15th September, 1977) is a Nigerian
novelist, nonfiction writer and short story writer. She has been called
"the most prominent" of a "procession of critically acclaimed young
Anglophone authors that is succeeding in attracting a new generation of readers
to African literature.
In an exclusive interview granted to Tavis Smiley’s
show, Chimamanda Adechie bears her mind on her writings
and other issues that won her accolades. Excerpt below:
Tavis: Best-selling novelist,
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, is one of the world’s most acclaimed writers. Her
novel, “Americanah” won the National Book Critics Circle Award and was selected
by The New York Times as one of the 10 best books of 2013.
Her
earlier novel, “Half of a Yellow Sun” which deals with the civil war that broke
out in her native Nigeria back in 1967 has been turned now into a movie. It can
be seen on various Starz channels. We’ll start our conversation tonight with a
scene from “Half of a Yellow Sun” starring Chiwetel Ejiofor and Thandie Newton.
Tavis: So how’s it
feel seeing your work on the big screen?
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie:
Not too bad.
Tavis: Yeah. How do
you think they did with the adaptation?
Adichie: The film, I like.
I like it. I wasn’t sure that I would because you never knew, but I like it. I
like the art of it. I think that it captures Nigeria in a way that’s really
beautiful. But I also think it’s different from – I think that film is a very
different thing from a book, so I wasn’t expecting the film to be exactly the
book. But I think it captures the spirit of the book.
Tavis: What was it
about the book that was essential for you to not be lost in the film?
Adichie: The sense
that, when people are in a war – and, in this case, in Biafra – that they find
ways to retain their humanity. I think, for me, I wanted the novel to really be
a human story and I think the film does that. So it’s about war which I think
is important, but it’s really about how people in the middle of war, people get
married, people fall in love.
Tavis: You may have
just answered the question I want to ask, but let me ask it anyway, which is,
given that you weren’t even born in ’67, which you don’t have to be around to
write about history, obviously, but what was it about that particular war that
you wanted to bring to life in your novel, in your text?
Adichie: Well, I wasn’t
alive, you’re right, but I feel as though I inherited the shadow of that
period. My grandfathers died in the war. My parents lost everything they owned.
I feel as though my family’s path was really affected by the war and I wanted
to remember.
I
think that Nigeria, and in general I think many countries in Africa, there’s a
kind of willful forgetting. There’s a sense in which we don’t remember our
recent past and I think it’s important to remember. So I think, in some way,
what I wanted the film to do was tell a human story, but also become a kind of
collective way of remembering what happened.
Tavis: You said
something a moment ago that I find fascinating and it is something that is
applicable not just to the people of Nigeria or to Africa, but this is
certainly true of Americans in many respects, this notion of willful
forgetting, willful forgetting. What’s behind that for you? What do you think
motivates that, particularly in your country?
Adichie: Well, I think
that the people who – so the war is fairly recent when you really think about
it and there are people who were active in the war who are still alive. So
there are people for whom it is beneficial if we don’t remember.
And
I think there’s this idea that everybody wants to be comfortable, so let’s just
let things be because we all need to be comfortable, which I think applies to
the U.S. in the way that there’s a sense in which America’s history,
particularly America’s racial history. We’re all supposed to forget it because
everybody’s supposed to be kept comfortable.
I
think in Nigeria, because Biafra is still very much a contested part of our
history, there’s still differing versions of what happened. People just really
are contested. So because of that, it’s just more comfortable if we don’t talk
about it.
But
I think it’s important to remember because I think that a consequence of not
talking about what happened to us is actually much more dangerous than the
consequences of talking about it.
Tavis: And what do
you regard – what do you see those consequences as today, the consequences of
not talking about it?
Adichie: That we repeat
history. I think many of the things that are happening in Nigeria today, if we
go back to 1967, we can explain them. We have politicized ethnicity. We have
people politicians who use ethnicity as a tool and it’s happening now. And I
think that, if we’re very conscious of what happened 50 years ago, we’re less
likely to repeat it. So I do think that it’s a serious possibility unless we
remember actively.
Tavis: Since you
spent time, obviously, in both places, this notion of willful forgetting that
you raised a moment ago, compare and contrast to me how you think that plays
itself out in America. You talked about the Nigerian example, but what’s your
sense of how that notion plays out in our country where race is concerned?
Adichie: I think it’s
the strangest thing. In some ways, I wrote about that in my most recent novel,
“Americanah.” I wanted to in some ways make fun of the idea that – I think race
is the subject in this country that is most burdened by so many things. It’s
weighted.
And
it just seems to me that it’s so burdened and so weighted that the only way
people think they should deal with it is to pretend that it’s not there. So
it’s not so much that people have forgotten, I don’t think. It’s that people
choose to think that they have forgotten and I don’t just mean slavery.
Because
I think that often the conversation about race in this country becomes reduced
to slavery and I don’t think that’s just what it’s about. I think that, even
after slavery, I think Jim Crow, I think the present, the very clear racial
disparities. But there’s a sense in which they’re not really confronted because
I think people are just uncomfortable.
So
there’s a way of talking about race and it seems to me that the outcome is that
everybody remain comfortable, which I also think is very dangerous. But I think
that it’s important to have conversations. Everybody talks in this country
about having the conversation about race, which I don’t think anybody has had
[laugh].
And
I think the reason is that, to actually have it, people have to be willing to
be uncomfortable. And I think in this country, non-Black people, people who are
not of African descent or rather people whose ancestors are not slaves because
I think that there’s a difference, those people are not willing to be
uncomfortable.
Tavis: Are there
conditions that you can imagine that might make it possible for those persons
to be willing to be made uncomfortable? Or is this a conversation – if there is
no answer to that question, that means what you’re suggesting is that this
intractable issue will never be addressed?
Adichie: No. I’m
actually quite optimistic. I think that people – I think it can take a certain
kind of leadership. I think it will take time. I think it’s possible. I think
if you have certain kinds of leaders – I mean, a friend of mine said something
about needing people from the community of resistance to address the
resistance. So I think that certain kinds of leaders in certain positions can
make that conversation happen.
So
I’m generally optimistic, actually. I think that it’s possible. It hasn’t
happened, though. I mean, people talk, but it just hasn’t happened. Nobody’s
talking about it publicly in sort of mainstream discourse. It’s just not being
talked about in honest and open ways, I don’t think.
Tavis: If that
conversation hasn’t happened in the era of Obama, then what do you think it
might require? What’s it going to take then for us to have that conversation?
Adichie: I actually
think that Obama can make it possible. It won’t happen in the two years left,
but Obama having become president, I think that he occupies this really fragile
place and I think there’s something about his being there and his being very
careful.
I
think the way that Obama has gone about race, which is really by not addressing
it in a way that’s overt and direct and helpful, in some ways, I think even
that is an indictment of America’s racial issues because he, I think, as the
first Black man to be president, is in a position where he has to be extra
careful.
But
I think what it means is that the next person who’s not necessarily Black, but
who thinks that this conversation is important, I think it makes it more
possible for that person to start it.
Tavis: And if that
person is a woman?
Adichie: Oh, even
better [laugh]. If Hillary wins, yes.
Tavis: You referenced
“Americanah,” your latest novel a moment ago, which is a national best seller,
one of the 10 best books of the year, as I mentioned, as chosen by The New York
Time, now out in paperback. For those who haven’t read this, what’s the
storyline here?
Adichie: It’s a love
story, but it’s also social commentary. So it’s about this young woman who
lives in Nigeria, comes to the U.S. to go to school and she has a man she loves
who leaves Nigeria and goes to England. It’s about many things.
And
one of the things I wanted to do, I wanted to write about race in the U.S. as
an outsider, as a person who came to the U.S. and became Black because I didn’t
think of myself as Black when I was in Nigeria. So race became this new
identity for me when I came to the U.S. I wanted to write about that and how
strange it can be.
But
also, I wanted to write about a kind of immigration that is familiar to me. I
think when we hear about Africans immigrating, we think about people who have
run away from burned villages and war and poverty. And that story’s important
to tell, but it’s not the story I know.
And
I wanted to write about the Africa I knew which is the middle class educated
people who are leaving not because their villages are burned, but because they
want more choices in the way that, you know, throughout history, people have
left their homes looking for more. So that’s what I hoped. Also, I think it’s
quite funny, if I may say so myself. So I hoped that readers would laugh.
Tavis: When you said
a moment ago that you didn’t think of yourself as Black until you came to the
U.S., that raises two questions. Let me ask them in the proper order. Question
one, what did you think of yourself as in Nigeria?
Adichie: I thought of
myself as Nigerian as Igbo. But, again, I think America is very interesting
because it’s the one place where identity is such a central thing for people.
It really isn’t, I think, in many parts of the world…
Tavis: Is that a good
thing or a bad thing, that identity is so important to us?
Adichie: I mean, I
don’t think it’s a symbol of good, but I think it can be bad and I think it can
be okay, but I think it’s also because of America’s history as a country that
has so many people. It’s a country of immigrants. Everybody came from somewhere
and, because of that, identity becomes a thing. In Nigeria, it really wasn’t.
So I thought of myself as Igbo in certain cases, but I didn’t really think of
myself as anything really.
Then
to come to the U.S., I became Black and I also became African in the U.S.
because, coming from Nigeria meant that people would turn around and say,
“You’re African. Tell me about Namibia.” And then I would think I actually
don’t know anything about Namibia because I lived thousands of miles away from
where they come from [laugh].
Tavis: So how did you
navigate then the journey of becoming Black and becoming African once you
arrived on our shores? I mean, I woke up this way in this country, so I haven’t
had that journey per se [laugh]. So how did you navigate this journey of
becoming Black all of a sudden?
Adichie: You know, for
me, learning that I was Black, I mean, I have to say to people when I talk
about this book that I’m very happy to be Black, that I wouldn’t change
anything about this. I think this is the most beautiful thing. But coming to
the U.S., it was realizing that this identity came with baggage and I remember
my first year in the U.S.
I
had just come and the first essay I wrote in a class, the professor comes in
and says this is the best essay and who wrote it? And I raised my hand and he
looked surprised. And I realized he didn’t expect the person who wrote the best
essay to be Black.
And
I guess also my name doesn’t sound stereotypically Black. It’s kind of a
strange name. That could be anything. I remember just realizing that that’s
what it meant, that Black was weighted with all of this negative stereotypes
and assumptions.
And
so, for a while, I didn’t want to be identified as Black. I found myself
pushing away that identity and wanting to be seen as Nigerian because I felt
that it was my way of separating myself from this group that had been, you
know, stigmatized by all kinds of really terrible stereotypes.
So
you know, what it took for me was reading and learning and watching. So I read
a lot of African American history. I just watched. I watched America, so I went
full circle and I became – one day, I was sort of like, “You know what? I’m
Black. I’m all of these other things, but I’m Black.”
In
some ways, it’s also a choice because I think, when you’re not born in the U.S.
and when you’re a person of African descent, in some ways, identifying as Black
becomes a political choice because it means that you’re willing to acknowledge
that race is a real reality and is an institution and really matters.
Because
the people I know – I know immigrants from the Caribbean and from Africa who
say things like, “Oh, you know, race is overblown. It really doesn’t matter,”
that kind of thing. So for me, it became a political choice.
But
at the same time, it’s important, I think, that America doesn’t seem to realize
that there are many kinds of Blacks, that there are many ways to be Black. So
there’s this assumption that Black is one single thing.
Clearly,
for me, it isn’t because I think that I navigate race as different from the way
somebody who’s born in the U.S. would because there are things for me as a
Nigerian that don’t just resonate as much, I think.
Tavis: So that’s your
story in your journey of becoming Black in America. The other part is this
African piece. If I had a dime for every horror story that I’ve heard from
Africans about their encounters with African Americans when they arrive on
these shores, I think I’d be independently wealthy just writing a book about
those horror stories.
So
do you have horror stories about learning to get along with and to embrace
African Americans in this country?
Adichie: No. I am sorry
to disappoint [laugh].
Tavis: Actually, I’m
glad to hear that [laugh]. I’m not disappointed at all because I’ve heard so
many.
Adichie: Well, I guess
– I mean, but here’s the thing. I think that, you know, African Americans are
Americans and there are certain things that one can generalize about Americans.
There’s just a general – you know, I think it has to be said – a kind of
ignorance about the world. America is very insular, so you come from a
different part of the world and they’re like, “What? Nigeria? Is that like near
Honduras?”
So
I think that ignorance plays into – I think that often Africans expect African
Americans to somehow know more than others just because of how we look alike.
So, surely, you must know about Africa, but they’re Americans and they don’t
[laugh].
But,
no, I have really good friends who are African American and maybe it has
something to do with, you know, I came here to go to school. I had a few
friends in undergrad. I had many friends in grad school and the conversations
that we’ve had, they’re not always comfortable, but I think that they’re
important.
And
one of such conversations I write about in the book, I make fun of it actually
which is I think one way of closing the conversation about slavery is to say,
“Well, Africans sold us.” I just think it’s so simplistic and it’s a way – if
you say that, then there’s nothing left to be said.
And
I think saying that also negates the fact that slavery itself was an
institution that benefited a particular group of people. And had those evil
African chiefs not sold them, they would still have had a way to get them
across the Atlantic.
So,
no, sadly no, I have no horror stories. I’ll have to invent some for next time
[laugh].
Tavis: No, no. I’m
happy to hear that your journey was a road well paved and not a bunch of
potholes in it in terms of the relationships with Black Americans. How have you
held on to that essential African part of you?
Because
the one thing that America does do is offer the opportunity for you to
assimilate and there are many people who come here and take the opportunity to
do just that. And before you know it, they’ve forgotten and left sometimes
deliberately and unapologetically everything about who they essentially are or
were when they arrived in this country. So how have you held on to the
essential African parts of you?Adichie: By refusing to have an American accent, eating Nigerian food and listening…[laugh]. Actually, when I came to the U.S., I did a very good American accent for a while. Can I have some water, please? And then I realized it takes so much energy…
Tavis: To do it
[laugh].
Adichie: To do it. I
spent my whole life saying “water” and then to have to say it “water,” I just
thought this is too much work. And, also, I become a fake version of myself
when I’m doing that. I think the thing about being a false version of yourself,
you just never quite reach your potential.
So
I feel as though the energy that I use in saying, “Can I have some water,
please?” I could use it and do something actually useful. So I chose to sound
as a I sound which means, of course, that often customer service people on the
phone will say, “What’s that, ma’am?” But I’ll just repeat myself until they
understand.
But
also, I think it’s having come here when I was 19. I was, I think, in some ways
formed and being raised in the family where it was very clear. My parents are
really lovely people. My father is a professor, but it was a sense in which it
was clear that we are Igbo people and, you know, this is what we are. We go to
ancestral hometown.
There’s
just a very strong sense of rootedness and I carry it with me. I think the
reason I’m comfortable in the world – and I am really – is because of that. I
carry that5 Igbo rootedness in me wherever I go.
Tavis: Were you sent
here or did you choose to come here?Adichie: I chose to come here because I was fleeing the study of medicine. I was supposed to be a doctor and, after a year, I realized that this was not working out for me.
Tavis: How did your
professor daddy handle that?
Adichie: My father, God
bless him, was supportive, but here’s why. He already had a doctor. My sister
is a doctor.
Tavis: Okay.
Adichie: And I’m the
fifth of six children, so I think that he has a doctor, a pharmacist, an
engineer, so his kids have done the proper think that, you know, middle class
Africans are supposed to do. So I think they decided that they could sacrifice
the strange one who wanted to write and do strange things. So they’re all
right, let her go.
Tavis: How did
writing become your avocation? How did you know that this was your calling in
the world?
Adichie: You know, I
don’t know when I didn’t know. When I was four…
Tavis: You’ve always
known it.
Adichie: Yes. I was the
child who was always writing stories and that’s the one thing. That’s the one
thing that constantly has made me truly happy. That’s the thing I love. You
know, I’m happy to be published and read and it’s still a kind of wonder to me
that people actually pay money to read what I wrote [laugh]. But the thing that
I love is the writing and I’ve always loved it, always, always.
Tavis: Is it always
and forever going to be fiction?
Adichie: Never say
never. I don’t know.
Tavis: I raise that
only because the issues that you raise in your novels are real world issues.
Adichie: They are.
Tavis: And you approach
it from a fictional perspective, but you could very easily, it seems to me,
have written about some of these subjects, certainly the Nigerian war from a
nonfiction…
Adichie: But I think
fiction affords something that nonfiction doesn’t. I think that the stories you
can tell – for me, fiction doesn’t mean it’s a lie, but I think actually
fiction can often be truer than nonfiction. If I wrote nonfiction about the
war, I would have to protect peoples’ identities. I would have to think about
the ethics of telling certain stories.
So
I think, for me, fiction just seems a much more – I don’t know – a much more
powerful way of getting into certain stories that are difficult.
Tavis: What for you
then is the blessing, the joy, of being a writer? I hear your point that you
are still surprised that people actually pay to read your stuff.
Indeed
they do and they pay well to read your stuff [laugh], as evidenced by this one
being out in paperback now. If they weren’t buying it, it would never have gone
to paperback. But what’s the blessing? What’s the joy for you in being a
writer?Adichie: I think it’s that people read what I wrote and it actually means something. And I mean not just entertainment which I think is important, but that women read it and they say to me, “You make me feel stronger. I feel validated.”
Or
somebody said to me once that “Half of a Yellow Sun” was her story and made it
possible for her to tell her family what had happened to her in the war and she
hadn’t talked about it until she read the book.
So
I think it’s that possibility, that just really incredible part, that you can
tell a story and it can move somebody. It can touch somebody’s life in a way
that really matters. That, I will never stop being grateful and moved by that.
Tavis: So early into
your career when you have your writing career, you have this sort of acclaim,
the acclaim that you have, and nine million-plus views of your TED talks on the
internet, I mean, nine million. That’s a lot of views for a TED talk or two.
When
you have this kind of acclaim so early on in your career, how do you process
that and does that put a certain kind of – for lack of a better word – pressure
on you into the future of your writing?
Adichie: No, no.
Tavis: You don’t feel
that at all?
Adichie: I think the
pressure is simply just the fear that I felt from the beginning, which is just
sitting down and you’re worried that you’re not going to write a good sentence.
I mean, I don’t really remember these things when I’m sitting down at my desk.
One, I enjoy – it’s really lovely. People are reading the book, it’s gotten
recognition, it’s a really lovely feeling.
When
I’m sitting down in my study, I really don’t remember. I don’t remember because
that terror, I think, that comes with creating is always there. It’s that I’m
sitting there thinking I will never write a good sentence again and I don’t
think I want to live if I can’t. I mean, it’s just that basic terror of
creating. It’s always there.
So,
no, if anything, it’s maybe if I finish a book or a story, just before it comes
out, I have that anxiety of, “Oh, my Lord, what have I done?” but not during
the creative process, no.
Tavis: Well, you’re
doing it well and we are all the better for how well you do it. A national best
seller now out in paperback. It’s called “Americanah: A Novel.” Chimamanda
Ngozi Adichie is the author of it, and her book has turned into a film now.
“Half
of a Yellow Sun” is seen now on various Starz channels, so you can tune in to
see that as well. Chimamanda, an honour to have you on this program, and thanks
for your time.
Adichie: Thank you.
Lovely to be here.
Great and informative post. thank you for sharing this information with us.
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