Each time I  feel like the sun is going away from my life, I turn to stories and poetry. Stories like the ones in Adichie's "A thing around your neck;" poems like Okigbo's "labyrinth" and Soyinka's "Memoriam." I  also turn to songs and now I'm listening to "mask,"  by Lucky Dube.

I read Adichie for the first time when I was in 4th year. "Purple hibiscus." The book had made a lot of wave and everyone talked about it. But, I was reluctant because, I  didn't believe it'd be as good as classics like "Things fall apart" and, "The joy of motherhood." I only read the best.

But, then, I fell in love with a girl who wasn't even aware of my existence. She was very beautiful and everyone wanted her. Wonder why I decided to fall in love with the most desirable girl in unec? Plus, I was too naive to approach her until, the day I saw her being dropped off at her hostel, in a Toyota 'spider'.

I felt a sharp knife through my heart. I felt so foolish. I had to go away, to the only place I found solace, during the sad days of medical school. I walked straight to the library but, I couldn't study old Nwokike journals because the section of the library that held them was being refurbished and the other sections were too stuffy. I walked out and headed for the canteen, JOPAL, where I called Gold Odenigbo.

You guys remember her? She's an angel, walking on this earth.  I had met her earlier, at a nwokike meeting and she had smiled at me.

I told her my pain and sorrow and she listened so attentively, like she's known to do. She smiled so charmingly, her eyes sparkling like the mid night stars. And she told me to smile too, that I'd find more love than I ever needed. She didn't even mind that my story was useless and a waste of her time.

"Find more love, than I'd ever need?" the clause, sounded so beautiful and I asked her where she'd got it from and she answered "Purple hibiscus." I knew then, that the book would be worth it. I had to buy it, though a pirated copy from Kenyatta market; the real thing was scarce, then.

Flip, flip, flip. I read voraciously,went through the plot, setting and characters, savouring everything, every bit of the lives of Kambili, my love, Uncle Eugene, the one that I pitied and, father Amadi,  the charming one.

I read the pages over and over, kissing the sweetest paragraphs. I'm sure the people who sat close to me, must have thought me mad. But, I didn't care. My undying love for Adichie had started. It'd explode and from then, I'd read more literature, than medical texts. I wanted to become Adichie.

That was how I got to read each of her other books and every single short story she has ever written. "American embassy,"  "A private experience," "Since Monday of last week," "Birdsong,"  "My mother the strong head historian," "Ghost," etc. I'll never forget them. I still read them.

I read stories that make me feel the world at its purest form. I read from granta, I'll never forget "come Japanese."  I read from any site that hold good stories. New yorker introduced me to Junot Diaz and Julian Barns. I have "Talking it over," one of Barns' novels and a short story of his  "Sleeping with John Updike." I remember, have them all. They are now part of my life, my companion, my shoulders to cry on. There are others, too. Chika unigwe, Jude Dibia, Uwem Akpan. I'll talk about them, some day.

I cry on the shoulders of literature because, unlike humans, literature will never hurt me, or say hurtful things like " Why are you always listening to sad songs?"  Or "Why are you always writing sad stories?"

So,  after waking up today and hearing for the 1000th time that Nigeria is in crises and all other bad news, I've been focusing on literature, thanks to low patient turn out today. Could it be that the economic crisis is keeping sick people at home perhaps, because death is cheaper than medical treatment, in Nigeria?

I've just finished reading "Nightfall in Soweto," and it has got me inspired to write a story about the worst experience of my life, a time when, I earned the unenviable tag of "............"

Tears, fall as I write. I hope to finish the story . I have to say how I feel about the world, how no one seems to ever understand me.

Through the song "mast," Lucky Dube,  is saying to me... "the world is a stage, we all have our stories and our masks on. Go on,  tell me, what is your story..... Go on, don't be shy, what is your story.......?"

"Behind the mask of the clown, lies the trail of tears........" Song on repeat.


©Nnaemeka Ugwu