T
AIWO LIJADU’S TWO-BEDROOM apartment in Harlem is filled floor to ceiling with relics that span time and space — elaborate canopies, a puzzle of rugs, and an expansive encyclopedia set among a wall of other books; aged printers and flip phones; wooden and stone African masks and pottery; Black baby dolls and birthday candles; flags of her Yoruba ethnic group and handheld Ankara fans. Over the years, many journalists have entered, immediately pointing and prodding, to the 75-year-old’s dismay. Much of what’s here is more…
