Finishing this novel was grueling and I am eternally grateful to my spiritual counselor and confidant, Rick Weaver, for his wisdom and wit, and for reminding me of the truth about who I am. My thanks also to Donna Schaper of Judson Memorial Church, Justin Epstein of the Unity Center of New York City, and Father Frank Desiderio of the Church of St. Paul the Apostle for the safe spaces they gave me to worship in.
Year after year, my wonderful friends have never asked me to be anything but what I am—what greater gift can one human give another? I thank them for making me laugh, for traveling to be with me because I needed them, for distracting me from my writing with endless text messages.
When I was a child, my mother sent me to live with my aunt, a decision I was not thrilled about, but one that set me on this path, for it was in my aunt’s house that I discovered literature. I thank my mother for her love and bravery, and I thank my aunt for welcoming me, and for making me go to Bethel Baptist Church, Kumba—it was the teachings I received there that pushed me to start questioning the world, and it was those same teachings that led me to become the person of faith I am today. I am deeply grateful, also, to all my relatives, by blood and by marriage, who have played roles big and small in my life and who have shown me many kindnesses. I am especially thankful to my cousins who, on my last visit to my hometown, reminded me with their affection that no matter how far I travel, my umbilical cord will remain buried in Limbe, in Cameroon, in Africa.
And my marvel of a husband. And my breathtaking children. To you, I say: thank you, thank you, thank you. For your love and a home that overflows with joy. For dance parties and countless other reasons to take a break from writing. For coming with me on this journey and cheering me on to stay the course, so that at the end of each day, when I lie down to sleep, I may do so to the words: Well done, good and faithful servant.