With Love, Miss Americanah by Jane Igharo EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Jane Igharo
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 5.3 MB
- Price: Free
I. Feel. Like. An. Idiot.
I’m walking down the busy street with an urgency that makes my
movement uncoordinated. My legs fumble over each other in a hasty
attempt to pass the elderly couple in front of me and get to my destination.
I’ll admit, this is a low point for me. I’ve hardly left the house since my
family and I moved to America a month ago. But today, I threw on a stainfree sundress, quickly slicked down my edges with my favorite fruitscented gel, and rushed out the front door looking like a civilized person.
All this to save an old DVD player.
At first glance, a passing stranger might look at the blanket in my arms
and assume I’m cradling an adorable baby or a helpless puppy. Their last
guess would be a DVD player on the verge of death. The chunky, outdated
technology has a disc stuck inside it, and while the situation might seem
trivial, to me it is a full-blown emergency. Hence my clumsy march to the
tech repair shop.
A mild breeze, laced with the smoky scent of barbecue, tousles my long
braids, and I shake the displaced locks from my line of vision, squint
against the sun’s glare, and hurry past a restaurant with a grinning cartoon
pig on its front window. When I arrive at my destination, I release a deep
breath. Before leaving my house, I googled “DVD player repair.” That
search brought me here—to Tech and Techies. I open the door, and a bell
chimes. There are only a few customers in the small space; some examine
the displayed computers, while others go through the products that seem to
be in an unorganized cluster on shelves.
“Hey,” the girl behind the counter says, jutting her chin to me.
“I … um … er … hi.”
Upon arriving in America, I developed a new personality trait: extreme
awkwardness. It started in the airport. In the swarm of travelers, I became
very aware of myself—of the color of my skin and my intonation—for the
first time in my life. In the melody of American accents, my Nigerian
accent stood out like an off-key note. When a uniformed man with an air of
authority requested to see my passport, I froze and babbled. Thankfully, my
mother and sister intervened.
Since we arrived, I’ve noticed Esosa, my younger sister, speaking with a
convincing American intonation. I can’t do that. I only know how to sound
like myself.
“Need something?” The girl at the counter speaks again. She looks
about fifteen. She’s wearing heavy, dark makeup that’s harsh against her
lily-white complexion. When she blows her bubble gum, it pops, then
flattens on her pierced nose.
“Um … yes. I need help,” I answer in an unsteady voice.
“Yeah. We don’t do animals. The vet’s a few blocks down.”
I look at my arms and instantly understand her assumption. “It isn’t an
animal.”
“Okay. Well, we don’t do babies either. Dr. Mason’s across the street.”
“It isn’t a baby.”
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