Ama Ata Aidoo Quotes

Humans, not places, make memories.

But what she also came to know was that someone somewhere would always see in any kind of difference, an excuse to be mean.

My lady Silk, remember that a man always gains in stature any way he chooses to associate with a woman - including adultery...but in her association with a man, a woman is always in danger of being diminished.

Love? Love? Love is not safe, my lady silk, love is dangerous. It is deceitfully sweet like wine from a fresh palm tree at dawn. Love is fine for singing about and love songs are good to listen to, sometimes even to dance to. But when we need to count on human strength, and when we have to count pennies for food for our stomachs and clothes for our backs, love is nothing. Ah my lady, the last man any woman should think of marrying is the man she loves.

A dog among the masters, the most masterly of the dogs.

You know perfectly well that if ever you really want to, you can come back to me," he said without the slightest trace of irony and cynicism, and left.

Yes. Work is love made visible.

Clearly, she was enjoying herself to see that woman hurt. It was nothing she had desired. Nor did it seem as if she could control it, this inhuman sweet sensation to see another human being squirming. It hit her like a stone, the knowledge that there is pleasure in hurting. A strong three-dimensional pleasure, an exclusive masculine delight that is exhilarating beyond all measure. And this too is God's gift to man? She wondered.

Guilt is born in the same hour with pleasure, like anything in this universe and its enemy.

And yet, I have not wronged you, have I? Indeed if there is anyone I may have sinned against, it is me. That desiring you as I do, needing you as I do, I still let you go.

From all around the Third World, You hear the same story; Rulers Asleep to all things at All times - Conscious only of Riches, which they gather in a Coma - Intravenously So that You wouldn't know they were Feeding if it was not for the Occasional Tell-tale trickle somewhere Around the mouth. And when they are jolted awake, They stare about them with Unseeing eyes, just Sleepwalkers in a nightmare.

One had said, 'You say you come from Ghaanna? Then we have a lot in common!' Sissie didn't know what to do with the statement, uncertain of whether it was a threat or a promise. 'We had chiefs like you,' the Scot went on, 'who fought one another and all, while the Invader marched in.' Sissie thanked her, but also felt strongly that their kinship had better end right there.

MY WISH I wish I could have a woman like you To be my better half The mother of my children I wish I could have a woman like you To be the organizer of my home and The selector of my costume I wish I could have a woman like you To love her And be loved by her I wish I could have a woman like you To love my children And be loved by me children I wish I could have a woman like you Whom, I can walk with in public places And feel proud

Suggested Reading Achebe, Chinua. Things Fall Apart Adichie, Chimamanda Ngozi. Americanah and Half of a Yellow Sun Aidoo, Ama Ata. No Sweetness Here and Other Stories Armah, Ayi Kwei. The Healers Bulawayo, NoViolet. We Need New Names Cole, Teju. Every Day Is for the Thief Mengestu, Dinaw. The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears Morrison, Toni. Beloved Okparanta, Chinelo. Happiness, Like Water Owuor, Yvonne Adhiambo. Dust Salih, Tayeb. Season of Migration to the North Selasi, Taiye. Ghana Must Go aaknopf.com

Sissie could see it all. In her uncertain eyes, on her restless hands and on her lips, which she kept biting all the time. But oh, her skin. It seemed as if according to the motion of her emotions Marija's skin kept switching on and switching off like a two-colour neon sign. So that watching her against the light of the dying summer sun, Sissie could not help thinking that it must be a pretty dangerous matter, being white. It made you feel awfully exposed, rendered you terribly vulnerable. Like being born without your skin or something. As though the Maker had fashioned the body of a human, stuffed it into a polythene bag instead of the regular protective covering, and turned it loose into the world. Lord, she wondered, is that why, on the whole, they have had to be extra ferocious? Is it so they could feel safe here on the earth, under the sun, the moon and the stars?

Sissie knew that she had to stop herself from crying. Why weep for them? In fact, stronger in her was the desire to ask somebody why the entire world has had to pay so much and is still paying so much for some folks' unhappiness.

We are victims of our history and our present. They place too many obstacles in the way of love. And we cannot enjoy even our differences in peace.

Our people have said that for any marriage to work, one party has to be a fool

For instance, it is quite clear now that all of the peoples of the earth have not always wished one another well. Indeed we are certain now, are we not, that so many people have wished us ill. They wish us ill. They have always done. They still do.

The pioneering works of writers such as Samuel R. Delany, Octavia E. Butler, Amos Tutuola, Ama Ata Aidoo, Ben Okri, Kojo Laing, Charles R. Saunders, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, Steven Barnes, Jewelle Gomez, L. A. Banks, Eric Jerome Dickey, Tananarive Due, Nalo Hopkinson, Linda D. Addison, Nisi Shawl, Walter Mosley, Andrea D. Hairston, and others created a body of work that blazed a trail for new writers to come. Anthologies such as the groundbreaking volumes Dark Matter: A Century of Speculative Fiction from the African Diaspora and Dark Matter: Reading the Bones, edited by Sheree R. Thomas, as well as Whispers from the Cotton Tree Root: Caribbean Fabulist Fiction and Mojo: Conjure Stories, edited by Nalo Hopkinson, helped challenge the assumption of invisibility and created more space for new works from a variety of communities to find their way into the publishing world.