My Whole Life Is My Work.

Is It My Fault If I Do Not Look Like An English Girl And I Do Not Talk Like A Nigerian? Well, Who Says An English Girl Must Have Skin As Pale As The Clouds That Float Across Her Summers? Who Says A Nigerian Girl Must Speak In Fallen English...?

If I Can't Write It Would Be As If I Died.

My Maternal Grandmother Was In London During The Blitz. Indeed, The Man She Was Dating Before She Met My Grandfather Was Killed Beside Her In A Cinema, In 1941, When A Bomb Came Through The Roof - A Tragedy In Which She Herself Was Badly Wounded.

On The Girl's Brown Legs There Were Many Small White Scars. I Was Thinking, Do Those Scars Cover The Whole Of You, Like The Stars And The Moons On Your Dress? I Thought That Would Be Pretty Too, And I Ask You Right Here Please To Agree With Me That A Scar Is Never Ugly. That Is What The Scar Makers Want Us To Think. But You And I, We Must Make An Agreement To Defy Them. We Must See All Scars As Beauty. Okay? This Will Be Our Secret. Because Take It From Me, A Scar Does Not Form On The Dying. A Scar Means, I Survived.

I Could Not Stop Talking Because Now I Had Started My Story, It Wanted To Be Finished. We Cannot Choose Where To Start And Stop. Our Stories Are The Tellers Of Us.