I was telling a friend the other day that I’m a sum total of all the different lives I’ve lived, all the values and belief systems that raised me. I’m struggling so hard to find those belief systems here. I’ve not allowed myself to embrace the normal sadness that comes with relocating because this is quite literally my entire life’s dream. My life had a routine in Lagos. I worked, partied, and hung out with friends. I had someone I could go to when I felt overwhelmed, someone to share my joys with. I was independent for the most part but I wasn’t alone. Here, I am simply alone. Just me, my chores, my books, my body, my thoughts, and my to-do list. Video calls cannot make up for hugs, for dancing together in the club, for sharing shots at South, for all the heeyyysss you shout when Asake comes on, for the Netflix watch parties, for the mundane and intellectual conversations, for properly spiced chicken at Ife’s house. Technology cannot replicate the joy of physical friendships.
In Lagos, I had my mother. We have a rocky relationship and don’t see often but even that rocky relationship was an integral part of my living. Now I cannot schedule quarterly visits to Ikorodu and sing hymns with my mom in her living room. It will be long before she makes me another pot of chicken stew. It will be long before she questions me about my future husband. It will be long before I hear months worth of gist in one night.
In this place, I feel very much like I’m not a part of the soil. There are a lot of days when I wake up feeling like I can take a bus to Yaba and I step out and realise it’s impossible. I feel like one of the seeds that fell on the rocky path in the parable of the sower. Not quite fitting. I feel like I’m taking up space that’s not meant for me. In Lagos, my feet were planted on the soil. I could move around with certainty. I knew the unspoken rules.
Here, I am merely floating through. I have no connection with the land. No connection with the soul of the city. The Lagos rhythm still wakes me. The soul of the city is alien to me. And when I look outside my windows, I don’t feel welcome.
As narrated by: SARAT (AMERSFOORT, NETHERLANDS)
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