ayo deforge

Every time I order a book and finally hold it in my hands, my excitement rivals that of a child unwrapping a long-awaited present. I love the smell of new books. Whenever I buy a new book, my first instinct is to bring it close to my nose. The aroma evokes joyful memories from my childhood. During my early teenage years, one of my favourite pastimes was visiting Abiola Bookshop in Yaba on my way home from school. I knew I had to be exceptionally well-behaved when I was in there because it was the only bookstore I knew with air conditioning, not to mention that it was the sole I frequented that stocked imported books. The sight of the diverse range of foreign books they had made me dizzy with thrill, even though I couldn't afford any of them. I took great pleasure in admiring Enid Blyton's book series, often cradling them in my hands and savouring their unique fragrance, distinct from my locally printed textbooks. I used to believe it was the smell of America, as I thought the a