The annual Things Fall Apart (TFA) festival had its grand finale on Saturday, July 5, 2025. It was a truly exciting and remarkable event that took place at the International Conference Centre (ICC), Independence Layout, Enugu.
Many motivating and splendid events occurred, like the melodious voice of a girl who sang ‘Onye bu nwanne’, a popular song, and this same girl wowed us all by playing the oja (flute), an Igbo instrument mostly played by men. This was just the tip of the iceberg, as later in the event we were graced with the presence of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Odeluwa), my role model, namesake, and birthday mate.
The truth is, I wasn’t named after Chimamanda Adichie; the meaning of the name just suited my father’s situation at the time I was born. ‘My God will never fail me,’ according to my dad, resonated with him, so I was given the name.
Growing up, I was always likened to Chimamanda Adichie due to our names and our similar flair for writing, but I fell in love with the art of writing and the beauty of reading before I really knew who she was. It was in Grade 4 that I watched one of her TED talks and decided, ‘When I grow up, I am going to be just like her.’ I was one of the only girls in my class in primary school whose role model wasn’t their mother or a cartoon character. I was known for always talking about Chimamanda Adichie in class, her books, and her iconic nature. My biggest dream was to meet Chimamanda Adichie, but I was called delusional. According to my classmates, “Where would you meet her? Even if you meet her, would she notice you?” I took all this in good faith, knowing that one day I would prove them wrong.
The tides eventually turned in my favour, now that I am in SS1. I was approached by a teacher in school who told me that Chimamanda Adichie would be in Enugu for the TFA festival, and I would join the members of my school’s Igbo Club as Ada Igbo to represent my school at the event. I was so glad and anticipated the day of the event. I went home and broke the news to my mum, who excitedly selected a cultural outfit for the occasion. Two weeks had passed since I was told about this, but I hadn’t received further updates on the event. Worrying that the event had passed, I told my dad, who made enquiries about when and where Adichie would be in Enugu. When my dad found out and told me the date, I told him not to worry, that I would prefer going with my school as Ada Igbo, as it would better my chances of being noticed by Chimamanda.
On Thursday, July 3, 2025, in school, I heard that some students had gone for the TFA festival at the Centre for Memories. When I heard this, I came home drowned in despair and feeling unimportant, not enough to represent my school. My father came back home from work that day, and I recounted all that had transpired in school.
My father checked the plan of events for the festival and told me not to worry. Chimamanda Adichie would be present at the grand finale of the festival, and he promised to take me. To prove his seriousness, he went the next day to make enquiries on how to register for the event. When he came back home, he told me to be ready by 12:00 noon on Saturday.
Honestly, I doubted my dad’s ability to deliver, so I waited for him to come back from work on Saturday before I started preparing for the event. When he later asked me why I prepared so late, I told him that I doubted he would actually keep his promise. He clapped his hands on my shoulder, laughing, and called me a doubting Thomas.
When we arrived at the place, the first thing my dad did was to buy Chimamanda’s latest novel, ‘Dreams Count’. We thought the event was to begin by noon, but it actually began at 4:00 pm, so, to pass the time, I opened the book and began to read.
As I read, I was so busy marvelling at Chimamanda’s creative finesse that I didn’t notice the event started thirty minutes later than 4:00 pm. When the person seated beside me pointed out that I wasn’t surprised, every event in Nigeria never starts at the designated time. I mean, it became so common it was dubbed African Time.
I listened to beautiful poetry performances and music performances as well, but my eyes remained glued to the door, anxiously anticipating the arrival of the person I have dreamed of meeting my whole life.
She eventually arrived amidst loud cheers and screaming from the crowd. I screamed and clapped until I was sure my throat and palms were sore, but even then I didn’t stop. My legs were so shaky that I had to sit for one minute before I continued cheering.
She gave a very educational talk on preserving Igbo culture. The level of her diction was superb, a standard that I hope to reach. After the talk, she had a session with a man named James Eze on her book Dreams Count. The audience was allowed to ask a few questions, but I didn’t raise my hand because I was sitting far back. After the question-and-answer session, I was hoping to get a chance to speak to her, but a man told my dad that she was on her way out. Upon hearing this, I became tired and frustrated. I had been sitting on a chair that left my leg muscles cramping in a place as cold as a cold room for meat, all to speak to her, and now someone was saying she was on her way out. I turned to my dad and told him I was ready to go. My father shrugged and followed me outside. As we were walking down the street, I didn’t even know when my eyes welled up with tears of helplessness and frustration. Then suddenly, I remembered my sunglasses I had come out with, not really to shield my eyes from the scorching afternoon sun but to complement my outfit. Turning to my dad, I told him that I had to go back to look for them; my dad said maybe God was sending us back there for a reason.
When we arrived at the place, I began frantically searching for the glasses. Then my dad suddenly said, “Look, people are crowding around the stage; I think Chimamanda is signing books.” I cast the stage a sideways glance, as the missing glasses currently occupied my mind, but in the moment I glanced at the stage, I saw her sitting in the Odeluwa chair that was gifted to her, signing books. My dad said that we should go there and try to get my copy signed. We went to wait amongst the crowd, but someone suggested my dad climb on stage where Chimamanda was signing. My dad turned immediately, and I, with my renewed hope, followed him like a lost sheep ambling after its newly found master. I’m not sure how it happened, but suddenly I was second in line for the book signing. When it was my turn, my hands were shaking so badly that I had to clasp them behind my back. As she opened the book to sign, she saw my name, ‘Chimamanda Ezinwa’, on the front page. She turned to me and said, “Chimamanda?” And I said yes, that my name is Chimamanda and both of us were born on the 15th of September. She asked me my age, and I said I was 14 years old and I also loved writing. At a certain point in the conversation, I had to grip my hand more firmly to make sure this wasn’t just some dream. Then she told the photographers to take a picture of both of us; her exact words were, “This is special.” As they were taking the pictures, someone mentioned that we look alike; I had heard that before, so I just smiled. As I was about to go, she told me to keep writing, that one day she will hear about me and my book.
I was so happy that I trekked home with my dad despite the light drizzle and long distance without complaining.
Hopefully, she’ll remember that 14-year-old girl who bears her name, is also born on the same day, and has the same passion.
The point or lesson to be learnt from everything is don’t give up on your dream, no matter how trivial. Even Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie said, “Every dream counts.”
Ezinwa, an SS1 student, is the Ada Igbo of Roseville Secondary School, Enugu
