I have left my heart in so many places.

I stood at the balcony of my two-bedroom flat gazing into space. The air was a bit musky and I was unsure of how to channel my thoughts. This was the last night I spent in my home country before leaving for gleaming life the United Kingdom promised

The night market underneath my flat was alive as always. The street lights high above diluted the thickness of night.

I looked down. People were busy with their life. Not a single soul on this busy street knew my plight. The plight I was to venture in. 

I shared the same culture with the people of Lagos. Its beauty and ugliness. I had long to escape from its thorns which prickle without warning. But the goodness of its embellishment was sweet and soothing to my heart.

How would I explain the fear I had? To tell anyone around me of the trembling tempo would be insane. I was scared of the unknown. 

This country is mine. I was born and raised here. It was my home. This beautiful land had given me everything I had.

On This Land

On this land, I had fallen in out and of love. I had buried my parents and grieved the death of my beloved. I found faith and the strong belief I have in my Creator.

The minaret of the mosque stood out, its light beaming in the dark. The school I taught in peeped at me. 

Looking from afar, one would have thought these massive buildings sat next to each other, but tonight they worked in unison to bid me farewell.

The street below led to the slum of Market street, down the street was where slangs were formed. On my right was the bus stop, buzzing with night travellers. 

A few minutes walk led to the edge of the lagoon. I didn’t quite appreciate the beauty of the water bodies that surrounded the area until I left the shore of my country. The virgin beaches and palm trees swaying to the rhythm of the cool breeze.

The hills of Enugu opened my eyes to what nature is all about. The underappreciated waterfalls, the virgin beaches right under my nose meant absolutely nothing at this time. 

The trees that never afraid of giving. The mango, guava and orange trees behind my grandmother’s kitchen. The Okinya stream and its strings of downhills, the bond between people and this waterbody, the ghost stories.

The masquerades with their costumes upholding the barbaric splendour in this civilized city. The belief that these entertainers were the emissaries of gods had a wave of burning anger in me. The statues oozing with palm oil and the superstitions attached to them.

The mosques and churches sprinkled all around the corners of this glorious city. Each with its worshippers, praises and congresses. 

The Dilemma

Part of me didn’t want to leave, part of me wanted to stay. The city of Lagos. I felt the serenity amidst the bustling of this city. The morning calls with its spiritual melody, the hawkers and hoodlums.

All-round me was the sweat of struggle. The ugly face of poverty bore its raw flesh, but the richness I look forward to eluded me. The VISA on my passport was an array of the colourful mixture. With this badge of honour, I joined the long list of been-to: people blinded with the lust of foreign cultures and magical stories.

The mismanagement of resources and dirty politicking made the decision easy for many to abandon the shore of the country, the shore of milk and honey. 

The Journey To The Unknown

Bags packed and my adventure began. First to the airport, the clearance and then to the plane. I didn’t feel a thing. My sisters and aunties saw me off at the airport. My autopilot kicked in. I was tranced.

Beside me was a young lady whose excitement annoyed me. The plane took off, all I remembered was clouds of darkness. It was 10 pm flight. 

On the 1st of October 2004, I woke up to a new life. The planned streets of London was a maze from above. I quivered as I was greeted by the cold autumn air.

“Is this the England I read in The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë?”

“Did William Shakespeare actually walked on this land?”, I asked myself.

To bag a master degree in one of the British universities was a dream and here I was ready to make this dream come true.

They have no idea what it is like to lose home at the risk of never finding home again, to have your entire life split between two lands and become the bridge between two countries. Rupi Kaur

Coming Of Age

For 15 years, I had pushed the thoughts to the bottomless pit of my heart. For years, I have come to know this country as home. I have married and now raising three human citizens of this nation.

Now my home country is calling. I have been told of how muddled up things have become. I heard news of the crimes, I listen to different voices streaming through the radio. The entertainment industry has gained a seat in the world’s rating. 

In 15 years, power had changed hands a few time, promises of a better tomorrow still unfolding. 

For me, things are becoming clearer. The home I left a decade and a half years ago is waving at me. Consequently, the knowledge gained through this sojourn has finally found a safe place to land. 

The trembling fear I had on that night is more pronounced now. Something is missing in me.

When the root is deep, there is no reason to fear the wind.