Hanna Agbanrin

I used to love going to the airport. It used to be the prelude to an adventure novel. I was embarking on the Airbus A380 to a pirate’s island; readying myself for a scavenger hunt in the dreamy Abomey, Benin; preparing for a historical trip to see the wonders of Turkey; or flying across the Atlantic to the city that never sleeps.

I closed Americanah three years ago. It was my first time reading a novel in which I could see myself through the main character. Just like the protagonist Ifemelu, I had struggled with my kinky, untamable, and frankly, impossible hair. Just like Ifemelu, I had been subjected to microaggressions from my peers. And just like Ifemelu, though I didn’t know it back then, I would also set foot in the United States three years later.