Excerpt of Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
(Page 4 of 4)
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Nnesinachi
always spoke to him in a vague voice, her eyes unfocused, as if his
presence made no difference to her either way. Sometimes she called him
Chiejina, the name of his cousin who looked nothing at all like him,
and when he said, "It's me," she would say, "Forgive me, Ugwu my
brother," with a distant formality that meant she had no wish to make
further conversation. But he liked going on errands to her house. They
were opportunities to find her bent over, fanning the firewood or
chopping ugu leaves for her mother's soup pot, or just sitting
outside looking after her younger siblings, her wrapper hanging low
enough for him to see the tops of her breasts. Ever since they started
to push out, those pointy breasts, he had wondered if they would feel
mushy-soft or hard like the unripe fruit from the ube tree. He
often wished that Anulika wasn't so flat-chested—he wondered what was
taking her so long anyway, since she and Nnesinachi were about the same
age—so that he could feel her breasts. Anulika would slap his hand
away, of course, and perhaps even slap his face as well, but he would
do it quickly—squeeze and run—and that way he would at least have an
idea and know what to expect when he finally touched Nnesinachi's.
Excerpted from Half of a Yellow Sun
by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie Copyright © 2006 by Chimamanda Ngozi
Adichie. Excerpted by permission of Knopf, a division of Random House,
Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or
reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
