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Sanusi Aliu Abba

@sanusialiuabba

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ina anyan koma wa gida - on my way back home.
LLB (in view.) storytelling. bookstagramming. social media manager: @hominumjournal

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I am grateful for many things, in my life.

Things that have given meaning to me. Maybe I have always been meaningful, perhaps what they did was give language, to my meaning.

I am grateful that I am my father's son - and I mean this in many ways. Daddy helped give meaning to my life, if not indebted, I'm forever grateful to him - I had a dream about him, two days ago, the night my mom said something, which eventually got Daddy an allusion. It was a beautiful dream - the synopsis of my life with him, our outting, his tipping, our little discussions, his carps, I felt his presence, truly. One thing that nearly made me cry, was me telling him in the dream to wear a suit, change to kaftan, we need to go take many pictures of him, now that's back. We have just two old pictures of him, he was never a picture taking person.

I'm grateful to that man. At times I imagine what would I have been, if it weren't for him.

I'm grateful for who I am, what God, the almighty has ordained me to be. In as much, it's not an easy ride, but I've come to learn, that it's a voice, and I could either sing for my life, melodiously, or the other way round. I chose the former, and it has more than anything, put a rainbow in my warm blue clouds.

I'm grateful for books. Stories. I can't begin to tell how much these have been solacing. Stories unburdened me. Stories made me thrived. Stories have paved ways for me. Stories have made me felt the lightness of being. Stories helped me with grief.

I'm grateful for being Hausa, it might sound pointless, but this being, has shaped me and given me more than I have bargained for.

I'm grateful for the matriarchs in my our household, those here and on the other side. I can't tell how much looking at the life of these women have shaped me, made me conscious. Yes, my life is seemingly synonymous with that of the women in my mom's side. I don't know of my dad. I'm taking a path in culinary arts - cooking, because of these women. It has paid for me on many things. They have helped, in a measure, add meaning to my life, by looking at their presence, past. by @sanusialiuabba

Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice " is a classical novel that centres majorly around an English noble family of seven, in Longbourn; Mr. Bennett, Ms. Bennet and their five girls.

The novel from its very first page begins with a struggle - to get the Bennet young ladies, well settled into families that will secure the future of the ladies, financially.

In as much Mr. Bennet is well to do, to a desirable extent, but the restlessness of his wife, Ms. Bennet over the sustainability of their girls, peaks till the last chapters of the novel. The one reason for this is that, the estate of Mr. Bennet is entailed; his property can only be transferred to a male heir.

With no male heir, the estate of Mr. Bennet is to be transferred to his distant relative, a clergyman, who'll later on ask for the hands of the heroine of the novel, which she refuses - this of course, according to Ms. Bennet, is showing no compassion on her poor nerves, and a selfish decision to make by Elizabeth, the heroine.

Pride and Prejudice embodies humor, manners, wits, love, romance etc.

One thing I don't sit well with is the analysis of Ms. Bennet's character - calling her empty headed. That's far from true. Restless? Yes, she was. And she has every reason to be. The novel is set in the 19th century, a period where female writers had to adopt pseudonym male names, in order to get their works published. A period where women had slim chances to inheritance. Which parent won't be restless over having their children who have maids brush their hair, reduced to milking cows in a diary farm, or scrubbing the floor of an aristocrat's scullery, for sustainability?

Pride and Pride was a beautiful read. I paused in between lines, to digest some expressions, I had a good laughter, also. Do it if you can. by @sanusialiuabba

Elechi Amadi's "The Concubine."

I realized one thing few weeks to my 21st birthday. It came surreptitiously to me, the knowing.

And what's this? Beauty does not equal happiness.

I had thought so all my life. I grew up hearing how handsome I am, generically. And I thought I was bound to be, bloom-fully happy. But it is not so on the ground scheme of things. And not just for me, but with some that fall under this category of being pretty.

Of course being generically pretty, be it you are a man or a woman, you'd find certain things relatively easy, than one that is plainly pretty. It is called beauty privilege. It is a thing. Some people would befriend you, only, based on that. They believe you'd radiate them, they would be seen by being with you.

This promised felicity that supposedly comes with being pretty is beside the truthfulness of life. People do not think so, but it is. It is tantamount to a book I have heard of, The Rich Also Cry. I have an aunty, she is no more. She was an actress, she was celestially made. Her beauty, as incredible as it might sound, was one of the things that led her to an early grave. She was human coupled with her beauty, but then...

Looking at it, you're more prone to certain fuvkedups, if you're pretty, than a person who is plainly pretty. I think, if not believe, so.

I didn't mean to capture that verbosely. This was to be about Elechi Amadi's piece, only. But then this is one of the minor themes in the piece. It subtly relates to it. The villagers thought, that the central character's beauty was a guarantee to an everlasting happiness; Ihuoma had but a little of this.

Grab this piece. Read it and dive deeply into the simple and equally sophisticated language - simplicity is one of the hardest things to do, and Amadi, proved it with this. There's an elegance to the way the novel is written, and narrated. Learn about love. Tradition. Culture Ndi Igbo. And of course, of a fine man, Elechi Amadi, too. by @sanusialiuabba

When I first picked @chimamanda_adichie Americanah, I read it first, at a slow pace. I returned to the first page a number of time - "Princeton in the summer smelled of nothing, and although Ifemelu liked the tranquil greenness of the many trees...."

The language, the way in which it flows seamlessly, and I love how simple it is. I think it is a thing with CNA's work - she cares more about the telling - what needs to be passed through, handed down, than the flaunting of unheard words in her vocabulary bucket. Her usage of language is debonair.

I couldn't maintain the slow pace. I read it hungrily in three days, and the very next day I picked it up again, and began a second read. I have never done such with any piece, not even Purple Hibiscus I love dearly of all CNA's works.

Americanah is a masterpiece. Almost a genre of its own. It speaks of of an ugly reality that cloaks us, one of the many things around our necks - separation. It speaks of love, the lightness of being that comes with it, and most especially it speaks of home - roots.

I recommended Americanah to a friend that was leaving the country for his first degree, even though he had read it before, but I wanted him to read it from the perspective of it also being a travel-guide; a guideline on what to expect of detachment, from home. It also borrows you a telescope, to see the struggles of your loved ones in the diaspora - they don't always have it all rosy there.

Americanah's beauty appraisal could take the entire day. It is that beautiful a literature.

And also, don't take this as a review, it is not. It is far from it, all I can say is, if you can do Americanah, do it, it is worth a shot. by @sanusialiuabba