The Visit by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Author:Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie [Ngozi Adichie, Chimamanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-08-30T22:00:00+00:00

Obinna should not have worried. It was true that Eze had changed: he now wore glasses and was bigger than Obinna remembered, a paunch sloping out just above his beltline. But they slipped, with an ease that surprised Obinna, back into the familiar friendship they had shared before.

“What a beautiful house. I did not know people had real hardwood floors in Nigeria,” Eze said when he first walked into the living room. Obinna listened closely for any tone of condescension, any of that American smugness, but he did not hear it.

“You look so well,” Eze said, reaching out to playfully slap Obinna’s shoulder, and Obinna admired the confidence it took for Eze to be so open in his admiration. Eze ate and complimented the food. “To eat fried chicken that is actually fried chicken again. You know Americans smother it in flour and call it ‘fried chicken.’”

They laughed; it was the kind of thing the old Eze would say. Later, as they sat sipping beers and talking in the living room, Eze’s American accent dissolved and he sounded once again as Obinna remembered. Eze talked about his life in America, his long work hours at an insurance company, his relationship with his last girlfriend.

“Three years together and she simply refused to propose. I tried everything. I did everything. But she wouldn’t commit.”

“Was she Nigerian?”

“Yes. I was with an African American before that. Very beautiful nurse. It was the same thing. Not ready for commitment. I later found out she had two other men.” Eze sounded irritated. He turned to the television, as though to find a target for his annoyance. “Can we turn this thing off?”

Obinna, eager to pacify Eze, reached quickly for the remote control. A news presenter was talking about the G-15 summit in Accra, showing footage of the opening dinner, most of the leaders in long formal gowns.

“These leaders’ summits are useless,” Eze said. “All those women talk about is the latest breast enhancement surgery and pedicure and all those girly things. And they’re always plotting to increase pregnancy grants and menopause grants, as if women don’t already have enough biologically based grants.”

Obinna murmured something nonsensical and turned off the TV. Eze got up. “I have to pee again!” he said. When he returned, he sank heavily into the sofa and said, “I actually came back to Nigeria to try an herbal treatment for my enlarged prostate.”

“Herbal treatment?”

“There’s no real treatment for prostate issues. Modern medicine has simply ignored the health problems that affect only men. Did you know that all the major medical research uses women’s bodies as the standards? So the dosage of most medicines we take are based on women’s bodies, which are of course smaller than men’s bodies, so we might actually be undertreating ourselves.”

“Really?” Obinna asked, a bit taken aback both by the turn the conversation had taken and the vehemence in Eze’s voice.

“Yes!”

“So what is this herbal treatment?”

“A relative told me about it. I’m on vacation, so I thought I might as well try it.

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