What I miss most about Nigeria is my mom and my brother. I miss their presence. I miss the feeling of just knowing that my eyes can move in the same direction as my mind when I wish to see them. And it is when we talk on WhatsApp that I miss them more; not exactly because we have smooth, sweet-sounding conversations all the time (in fact, most times, calls come in at the worst times, and attempts to convey emotions through words fall flat). But having to rely mostly on WhatsApp voice and video calls to reach them is a stark reminder that they are not in my life, just on my mind. They are family but we are not in family-mode. Social media, in general, constantly reminds me of the place of my beginnings. Twitter banters about celebrities, hypothetical and real issues bedeviling the life of an average Nigerian, the flurry of events glamorously showcased…all of them make me romanticise Nigeria in my head. Back in 2019 when I left, Nigeria felt like a cauldron, everything inside was cooking good, there was liveliness if you knew where to look, and there was a path to building a good career if you played your part and waited on patience but the pot itself was hot, scalding hot. From the way of life that I had adopted back then to the ambiance around me, I was on fire all over. I know the Nigeria of pain and hard life, but social media now makes me think there is another world inside the world of Nigeria that I didn’t know about. The one that is all about being boisterous, living your dream to the fullest without fear of societal discrimination, making the money if you work smart, and spending the money going to concerts, film festivals, arcades, paintball game centres, galleries, beaches, resorts that look like resorts for real, paint and sip studios, book clubs, theatres where the popcorn is actually good, and attending highbrow ówàmbẹ̀s organised by friends from your university days who are now champagne-poppers. That is the Nigeria I didn’t live in but that’s the Nigeria I miss.
As narrated by: FUNMI (ALABAMA, US)
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