Academic Discussion

Grace spent the next three days trying to convince herself that the coffee meeting with David had been purely academic. Professional networking. Research discussion. Nothing more.

But every time she sat in her Contemporary African Literature class, she found herself thinking about his questions instead of paying attention to Dr. Makinde’s lecture on Chimamanda Adichie. When was the last time you chose something purely for yourself?

The question haunted her during family devotions, when she recited Bible verses she’d memorized but never really examined. It followed her to youth fellowship on Wednesday evening, where she sat through Sister Folake’s lesson on “Guarding Your Heart Against Worldly Influences” and wondered if David qualified as worldly influence.

He’s a university lecturer, she told herself. He reads literature and talks about authentic living. How worldly could that be?

By Thursday evening, Grace couldn’t take it anymore. She was supposed to be working on her final year project – a documentary about women in Nigerian media – but all she could think about was David’s comment about her authentic voice.

She picked up her phone and stared at his number for ten minutes before finally typing: Hi. It’s Grace. Are you free to talk?

His response came back within minutes: Always. What’s on your mind?

Instead of calling, Grace found herself typing out a long message about her documentary project, about the women she’d interviewed, about how frustrated she felt trying to tell their stories within the constraints of what was “appropriate” for a pastor’s daughter to explore.

David’s response made her heart race: This sounds fascinating. I’d love to discuss it properly. Coffee tomorrow? Same place?

Grace stared at the message, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. One meeting could be explained away as academic networking. Two meetings started to look like something else entirely.

Yes, she typed before she could change her mind. 2 PM again.

This time, Grace didn’t spend two hours agonizing over what to wear. She grabbed her favorite jeans, a simple white t-shirt, and her denim jacket. If this was going to be a regular thing – and the thought both thrilled and terrified her – she might as well be comfortable.

David was already waiting when she arrived, this time with what looked like several books stacked beside his coffee cup.

“I brought some reading material,” he said, standing to greet her. “Authors I think you’d find interesting for your documentary work.”

Grace sat down and examined the books: Purple Hibiscus, Americanah, The Joys of Motherhood, and something she’d never heard of called Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga.

“I’ve read the Adichie and Emecheta,” she said, “but this one…” She picked up Nervous Conditions.

“Zimbabwean author. Incredible exploration of what it means to be an educated African woman caught between traditional expectations and personal ambitions. I thought it might resonate with your documentary subjects.”

Grace flipped through the pages, reading random sentences that seemed to leap off the page and speak directly to her situation. The condition of being a woman in this world was a nervous condition.

“Can I borrow this?”

“Keep it. I have multiple copies.” David settled back in his chair, studying her face. “So tell me about these women you’ve interviewed. What are their stories?”

For the next hour, Grace found herself talking more freely than she had in years. She told David about Funmi, the single mother who’d built a successful catering business from nothing but was still judged by her church for having a child out of wedlock. About Kemi, the brilliant journalist who’d been passed over for promotions because she refused to sleep with her male editors. About Adunni, the traditional ruler’s daughter who’d given up her law degree to manage her family’s expectations but still wrote poetry in secret.

“These are powerful stories,” David said when she finished. “But I notice something about how you tell them.”

“What?”

“You talk about these women like their struggles are completely separate from your own. Like you’re documenting someone else’s life rather than exploring themes you understand personally.”

Grace shifted uncomfortably. “I’m just trying to maintain journalistic objectivity.”

“Are you? Or are you maintaining emotional distance because getting too close to their truth might force you to confront your own?”

The question hit like a physical blow. Grace set down her coffee cup, her hands suddenly shaky. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Funmi being judged by her church for not fitting their ideal – does that feel familiar? Kemi having to choose between her integrity and her advancement – ring any bells? Adunni sacrificing her dreams to meet family expectations – sound like anyone you know?”

Grace stared at him, feeling completely exposed. “That’s not… I’m not…”

“You’re not what? Living someone else’s definition of who you should be? Hiding parts of yourself to maintain an acceptable image? Wondering what would happen if you chose authenticity over approval?”

Stop, Grace wanted to say. Stop seeing me so clearly. Stop making me think about things I’m not ready to think about.

Instead, she heard herself asking, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Live authentically. You seem so… free. Like you never worry about disappointing people or failing to meet expectations.”

David was quiet for a long moment, turning his coffee cup in slow circles on the table. “You want to know the truth? I spent the first twenty-five years of my life trying to be everything my parents wanted. Good Christian boy, straight A’s, headed for the ministry like my father and grandfather before me.”

Grace’s eyes widened. “You were going to be a pastor?”

“Seminary and everything. Had my whole life planned out – marry a nice church girl, take over my father’s congregation, spend my life preaching other people’s interpretation of God’s will.” He smiled ruefully. “Then I went to university and started reading authors like the ones I just gave you. Started asking questions that didn’t have easy answers. Started realizing that maybe God was bigger than the box my family had built around Him.”

“What happened?”

“My parents gave me an ultimatum: abandon my ‘worldly’ education and come home to fulfill my calling, or lose their support and blessing forever.” David’s voice was calm, but Grace could see the old pain in his eyes. “I chose education. Choose questions over certainty. Chose to find my own relationship with faith rather than inherit someone else’s.”

“And do you regret it?”

“Some days. It’s hard to live without your family’s approval, especially when you love them. But I’d rather have their disappointment than spend my life being someone I’m not.”

Grace felt tears building in her eyes. “I don’t think I’m that brave.”

“Bravery isn’t about not being afraid,” David said gently. “It’s about being afraid and choosing authenticity anyway. And you’re braver than you think, Grace. You’re here, aren’t you? Having conversations you know your father wouldn’t approve of, asking questions you’re not supposed to ask. That takes courage.”

“It doesn’t feel courageous. It feels terrifying.”

“The best things usually do.”

Grace looked at this man who’d somehow become a mirror, reflecting parts of herself she’d tried so hard to ignore. “Why are you doing this? Why do you care what happens to some pastor’s daughter you barely know?”

David leaned forward, his expression serious. “Because I see someone brilliant being slowly suffocated by other people’s fear. Because I know what it’s like to sacrifice your authentic self on the altar of family expectations. Because…” He paused, seeming to consider his words carefully. “Because I believe that God – if God exists – would rather have honest questions than performed certainty.”

“And if God doesn’t exist?”

The question shocked Grace as much as it seemed to shock David. She’d never said those words out loud before, had barely allowed herself to think them.

“Then we’re still better off living authentically than pretending to be someone we’re not,” David said quietly. “But Grace… are you ready to explore that question? Because once you start down that path, there’s no going back to comfortable certainty.”

Grace stared into her coffee cup, watching the surface ripple as her hands trembled slightly. Everything in her upbringing screamed that this conversation was dangerous, that David was dangerous, that she was walking toward the edge of a cliff that would destroy everything she’d ever known.

But for the first time in her life, the danger felt less terrifying than the alternative of going back to sleepwalking through a life that belonged to someone else.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” she said finally. “But I don’t think I can go back to pretending I never asked the questions either.”

David smiled – not with triumph, but with understanding. “That’s okay. We don’t have to figure everything out today. We can take it one question at a time, one conversation at a time. No pressure, no agenda. Just two people trying to make sense of what it means to live an authentic life.”

Grace’s phone buzzed. Another message from her mother asking about her whereabouts. This time, instead of panic, she felt a flash of irritation. Why did she need to account for every hour of her day? Why couldn’t she have coffee with a colleague without it becoming a family interrogation?

“I should go,” she said, but this time the words felt different. Less like escape and more like a strategic retreat.

“Of course. Same time next week?”

Grace hesitated. Regular meetings would be harder to explain, harder to hide. But the thought of going back to her old life without these conversations, without someone who saw and accepted the real her, felt unbearable.

“Yes,” she said. “Same time.”

As she gathered her things, David handed her another book – Half of a Yellow Sun.

“In case you finish Nervous Conditions and want to keep exploring,” he said.

Walking back to her car, Grace felt like she was carrying contraband. These books represented ideas and perspectives that would horrify her parents. But they also represented possibility – the possibility that there were other ways to think, other ways to live, other ways to understand faith and authenticity and what it meant to be a woman in the world.

That evening, Grace sat through family devotion thinking about Tsitsi Dangarembga’s words: The condition of being a woman in this world was a nervous condition.

She looked around at her family – her father reading scripture with absolute certainty, her mother nodding along with practiced devotion, herself sitting quietly and playing the part of the obedient daughter.

For the first time, Grace wondered: What would happen if she stopped being nervous and started being honest?

The question would keep her awake all night.

To be continued…