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Occasionally, I come across a book that is so seductive to my imagination that I leave it in the library instead of checking it out. I go there for secret trysts with it whenever I can. My first affair was with a book called The Joys of Motherhood by Buchi Emecheta (Nigeria). I found the book waiting to be checked out, picked it up and scanned the first page. The title was so intriguing compared to the wistful image on the cover. 
Such an emotional contradictioin could not be overlooked. After a few pages, I found myself faithfully visiting the book. I admit that the only reason I did not check it out was because it was in Special Collections. But I loved the feeling of intimacy and importance that this special relationship created. I found myself hurrying to the library to find out what was going to happen and wondering how I would cry or laugh that day as I read. Depending on my schedule, I might only be able to read one chapter and have to leave feeling quite sad, yet satisfied. I finally finished the novel. I read the last words and sighed with was still for moments after. Unbelieving that it was over. Unbelieving that it had felt so good to be so involved with a story. To feel like I understood and shared the weight of the characters’ living. To be wrapped in by the words, the humor, the sadness, the reality. To be torn between tradition and needed change. Emecheta is amazing. I’ll wash her feet if we ever meet.
That was months ago. My new library love is No Woman, No Cry: My Life with Bob Marley by Rita Marley. It’s lovely. It reads like your listening to her talk. Not stuffy or literary, but musical like Jamaican English peppered with bits of patois. Makes me listen and hear her voice as I read. 
So often, the stories of women are smothered. The excuse is that they’re smothered in the mothering, the cleaning, the cooking, the chores that “we do best.” But it just ain’t so. Rita tells the story of her feisty quirkiness as a little girl. And it makes me remember that we all have that little girl inside of us. Full of ambition and sass and certainty. Everyone of us dreams big dreams about phenomenal things like being famous singers and animal doctors and painters, and even morticians. We want to do everything. And yes, we would like to be recognized for the spunk of our spirit as we do it. Rita tells her story with what could only be her voice. It moves like someone remembering, and it is replete with memories that make you listen to the “backup” singing of this one “little birdie” with a smile and a familiarity that can only come from hearing her tell her own story. For now, I’ll meet with Rita in the library when I can get there. We’ll sit for a while every time. I’ll listen and laugh at her humorous way of recalling people, sigh at her gritty descriptions of Kingston, and of course wonder at every detail and image she could not possibly have shared. I’ll want to ask her questions, and maybe one day, I will.
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