The Nigeria I Knew

The Nigerian Coat of Arms

Nigeria and I have this odd relationship. I was born there, and lived there until I was a little over 12.

The thing is, I feel like I have no real connection to Nigeria anymore. Neither of my parents are Nigerian, so there is no Nigerian cultural tradition, or food, that we would partake in, after we moved to the US. I don't look Nigerian, and have even had to defend that I lived there a couple of times to Ghanaians, who refused to believe that I, the Obroni with dreadlocks, would have ever lived in the most populous country in Africa, the nemesis of Ghana.

I also don't speak with a Nigerian accent (although my West African accent comes out when I speak to Africans). I often get this surprised look from people when they ask where I am from, after I tell them I spent the first 12 years of my life in Nigeria.

I haven't been to Nigeria since 1991, 19 years ago. Much more time has passed since the last time I was in the country than the time I spent there, but I still feel an intense nostalgia about the country, the Nigeria I knew.

I remember the songs we sang in elementary school, about independence day, about the bad shape of the economy in the early 1980s (my dad still chuckles at the thought of having 8-year olds sing about the bad economy). I can still feel my bare feet running along, playing football with a half-inflated ball, or anything round we could find, the feel of the bike I got when I was three and rode until it was unridable (it was, literally, broken in 1/2 by twins I knew). I can still hear the sound of the call to prayer from the Mosques, and the excitement of getting out of school early on Fridays, because the muslim kids had to go to Mosque that afternoon. I remember being called a Fulani, because of my skin tone, and how I felt that was more insulting that calling me Oyimbo (white person).

Unfortunately, Nigeria rarely gets positive stories about it in the media these days; it's looked at for its corruption, the oil industry, the crazy terrorist. It's negative stories have affected me, because of the place of birth listed in my passport, being questioned about my Nigerian-ness by security officials as I pass through airports.

That's not the Nigeria I knew. The Nigeria I knew was a place where I could run around and play all day, where my parents never had to worry about my safety when I was outside, even at night. The Nigeria I knew is where mothers were called "Mama so-and-so" - my mother was "Mama Kodwo".

So I hope that today, the day Nigeria turns 50, people don't see Nigeria as the place they read about in the news, but, for at least one day, see Nigeria as the Nigeria I knew.

Happy Independence Day!!!