Like many, if not all, of you, I have expectations of people. Maybe these expectations are fair, and maybe they aren’t—expectations of those I know and love, and expectations of those I don’t know but admire from afar.

So, when I got my ticket and settled into my seat at Southbank to listen to the incomparable Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, I had expectations. I expected her to wear her hair as a sculpted work of art that pays homage to the beauty of natural hair—and she did not disappoint. I expected her to wear a statement dress that exuded feminine boldness, designed by a Nigerian designer—an expectation she defied, as her dress was in fact made by a Ghanaian designer. I expected her to be quick-witted, graceful, humorous, and to have a cutting but carefree sarcasm that you only really, fully, and completely understand if you are African, and more specifically, Nigerian. She was, in fact, all of these things. She surpassed my expectations, and listening to her makes you want to raise your game. If there’s one thing about Chimamanda, it’s that she makes you want to be more intelligent, pick up a book, and know more about the world—because she inspires curiosity.