I was around fifteen when I first read Things Fall Apart. It was a set book for our English class. We were, or at least I was, reading an account of Nigeria’s history – and more broadly Africa’s history – in the face of colonialism and not contextualising what it really meant. Things Fall Apart was for English class, meant to be read as per the prescribed chapters after each class, whilst Judy Blume, Sue Townsend and a whole lot other British and American writers held out interest for longer. The only thing that made those readings of Things Fall Apart stand out, and finally made me aware that I was reading a very important part of Africa’s history was the play – or was it simply the reading out loud of the dialogue in the book – which our English class did. A brilliant move on the part of the English teacher, because to this day, this is one of the lasting memories I have about some of the books I read in high school. It feels good to know that I can actually remember Achebe’s Things Fall Apart over Blume’s Are You There God? It’s Me Margaret, even though both were very relevant in my life at the time. A great loss, of a great writer.