Africa Is Not The Naughty Step

I don't know when it happened. I'm not sure what brought it on either. But there was a point in my life in England when going back to Nigeria was a source of great anxiety. It's a curious little thing really. I wasn't born in England and although I spent a significant portion of my life so far there I was, fundamentally speaking, brought up in Nigeria.

What I noticed fairly quickly was that this anxiety wasn't relegated to me or Nigeria. My friends from other African countries seemed to have the same problem. And you might be wondering where it came from. From our families! Parents, guardians, siblings, church folk all threatened us with the dreaded Africa. If you misbehave you're going back to Africa. You get bad grades we're shipping you off. Trying to act like these white kids? Back to the jungle you go!

There is something profoundly wrong with the idea that your home is a last resort or punishment for your children. You cannot instill that mind set into them from birth and then question why they refuse to return home when they come of age. Perhaps their threats were innocent. I can't say that I know for sure one way or the other. But as a race, black people are generally quite quick to point out when someone belittles them even we are just as good at degrading ourselves as anyone else.

My back-to-Nigeria anxieties didn't ease up until I moved to Dubai and visited home from here. Even though it was a fairly quiet affair, I was profoundly aware of a reawakening of senses. It actually felt good to be home! Surprisingly good. Yes NEPA still surprises you mid way through a meal by cutting the power. Yes the roads are still bad and the drivers are worse. Yes mosquitoes are still disfiguring my skin. Yes the politics, policies, work ethics and everything in between are questionable at best. But, somehow, it is still home isn't it? The food is still great, the people are still a crazy kind of joyful and there is no rain like the rain in the motherland. The fruit is fresh and the air is different and even when you're bored beyond recompense you find happiness and peace.

Perhaps I'm being a bit too unrealistic with my descriptions. My point is for all the criticism we Africans make against our home could we please take a minute to respect her struggle and uplift her? I don't think it's too much to ask. 

Montage...Reminders of an African Childhood

This is the final piece I wrote for the magazine project. It is basically a short culture piece. A few of us did one. It focuses on an aspect of a culture the writer knows a bit about and you provide some interesting information about said culture to the readers. I really liked this one because I got a bit nostalgic writing it. Oh it also comes with an image because it would make absolutely no sense to most people otherwise. This one was a bit light hearted so enjoy.

Reminders of an African Childhood

My guess is the name varies across all the many tribes in Nigeria but the Yoruba people call it ayo. It’s a game most people learnt to play with their fathers or grandfathers. Me? I learnt by watching other people, siblings, uncles and even my mother. It’s fairly easy to pick up if you watch a couple of rounds. The one we had while I was growing up was larger and it was set on the back of a rather ugly looking eagle carved out of wood. The statue which I now remember as being quite grotesque was actually what attracted me to the game to start with! I spent so much time tracing all the kinks and crevices of the carving with my finger and I remember being quite taken with the beak. This one is relatively smaller and simpler and belongs to my sister. I had all but forgotten about it till I found this at her house over Christmas.

This is our Africa.

This is us. This is our Africa. This is the way we live, often not out of choice; we make do. This is where we wake up to pure joy and the beautiful sun glistening on our ebony skins. This is where we take casual walks in torrential rain without discomfort or fear. Our growth is stunted by your greed. But we are who we are; born fighters. It is going to take much more than your lies, deceit and exploitation to quench the flame that burns in our souls and shines in our eyes. The world will not remain silent to our cries forever, and even if it will, we will not. This is who we are. This is us. This is our Africa.

I will not pretend that my people were peaceful before yours came. Like much of the human race often is, we were at war with each other. I might even go as far as commending you for giving us a reason to be united. But even with our meagre wars before your arrival, we were better off. We had a system that worked, granted it would not have worked forever, but I assume we would have found a way to cross that bridge when we inevitably arrived at it. We shall never know for sure now. Your people came with talks of peace and unity but instead they brought with them war and division. They came to us preaching about giving when in reality they were all about taking. They came with talks of advancement when they were experts on recession. They took, they drained but worst of all they never left, not really. All things considered I think my people and I have acted fairly civilly towards you and your people, whether you deserve it or not. Often times when we react to the many ways you have and continue to taunt us, you deem our reactions childish. Our apologies for being the oppressed, sincerely. Yet we have one final request, if you would not mind terribly. I ask, like Moses did to the Egyptians, that you do us one insignificant favour: let my people go. I call it insignificant because we could ask for much more, but we will not. We will be independent, like we have been trying to be for years now, if only you’ll let us go. Call off the dogs, put down the weapons, yell retreat and surrender the motherland back to us. We are asking nicely. There is a revolution upon us.