Half of a Yellow Sun

Here was a superior tongue, a luminous language, the kind of English he heard on Master’s radio, rolling out with clipped precision. It reminded him of slicing a yam with a newly sharpened knife, the easy perfection in every slice.

when it got dark, he turned the light on and marvelled at how bright the bulb that dangled from the ceiling was, how it did not cast long shadows on the wall like the palm oil lamps back home.

But I was Igbo before the white man came

half of a yellow sun

alf of a yellow sun

Unbroken happiness is a bore; it should haveups and downs.

“It was to you that I had given my trust and the only way a stranger could tamper with that trust was with your permission. I blamed only you.”

Olanna looked up. Her mind was a blank board. “Why do I love him?”

Edna raised her eyebrows, mouthing but not singing Billie Holiday’s words.

“I don’t think love has a reason,” Olanna said.

“Sure it does.”

“I think love comes first and then the reasons follow.

They had both wanted it to happen and they both wished it had not;

Why do you need so much outside of yourself? Why isn’t what you are enough?