I read everything. Comics, Romance, Horror, Sci-fi, Literary, Crime. I had favourite books – Pride and Prejudice, Emma, The Little women. I loved Agatha Christie – she became a staple – long dead in faraway in cold England while I followed her exotic characters under the scorching Nigerian sun.
I made it a private personal mission that I would make her smile. I had no idea who she was, her name, her issues. It did not matter. A smile was not for sale.
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It was 1992. Ms Morrison had a given a talk on the book, to a rapt audience, in a packed ICA. The queue to have the book signed was very long, and I was hungry, so I skipped having mine signed and had berated myself for my foolishness ever since.