AFAReads discussion

Dear reader,

Wherever we travel, we bring with us all the things that make us who we are: Our race. Our mother tongue. Our schooling. Our resources. Our clothing preferences. Our most monumental loves. Our most soul-crushing heartbreaks. Some of these are more overt, like the color of our skin or the shape of our eyes. Others are hidden more deeply within, like our definition of comfort food. (Mine is white rice.) All these pieces come along with us whenever we board a plane, and they disembark with us whenever we land.

When we reveal ourselves to people in new places, for better or worse, we learn how others interpret us through their own kaleidoscope of experiences. As we navigate others’ impressions, we also become more conscious of our own dimensions, clarifying who we are as we go along. It’s these eye-opening, sometimes electrifying, and sometimes painful parts of travel that allow us to grow and change.

To me, few books better illustrate this idea of self-identity in a globalized world than Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Adichie’s third novel, it traces the transatlantic journey of a woman named Ifemelu, who relocates from Lagos, Nigeria, to the United States to continue her education when the institutions in her own country are in turmoil. In America, she explores the complexities of racism here from the perspective of an outsider. As a Black African woman, Ifemelu shares very few cultural similarities with Black Americans. But as she becomes more deeply ingrained in American culture, her experience helps her to re-establish the pillars of her own identity—which ultimately stokes her desire to return home. With Americanah, Adichie takes us around the world: to Baltimore and Princeton through the eyes of Ifemelu; to London, where her longtime love, Obinze, attempts to forge a new life on his own; and to Lagos, the fast-paced megalopolis where both Ifemelu and Obinze spent their formative years.

Throughout, Adichie paints a unique and often unflinching portrait of the Black African immigrant experience in America. At the same time, she unearths universal truths about strength and vulnerability that help readers to navigate the gray areas of their own identities. For my part, I look back on my childhood as a half Japanese kid who grew up moving every few years, attending white expat schools in Asia and the United States. There were times when I longed to have blue eyes or blond hair like the popular kids, and I didn’t fully embrace my heritage until I became an adult. Ifemelu’s courage to unapologetically lean into who she is—despite others’ attempts to define her—is a reminder that owning who we are is the only true path.

I hope you can join me in reading and discussing Americanah for our AFAReads July book club.

Yours,
Jennifer Flowers, AFAR Deputy Editor