Jideofor Adibe Let me start this piece by narrating a story I read somewhere about a certain three- year old boy whose father was the President of their country. Let’s call this boy John. One day the country was celebrating an important anniversary. Many citizens lined up the route through which the President was being driven in an open jeep, at an incredibly low speed. They were waving their country’s flag in the spirit of that celebration while the President acknowledged with the waving of his right hand. John and his mother were among the crowd. His mother had carried…

Chimamanda Ngozi I was 7 years old the first time I recognized political fear. My parents and their friends were talking about the government, in our living room, in our relatively big house, set on relatively wide grounds at a southeastern Nigerian university, with doors shut and no strangers present. Yet they spoke in whispers. So ingrained was their apprehension that they whispered even when they did not need to. It was 1984 and Maj. Gen. Muhammadu Buhari was the military head of state. Governmental controls had mangled the economy. Many imported goods were banned, scarcity was rife, black markets…