The last straw...

I travelled to Nigeria mid-year. For summer break. And for the end of my Fulbright year. After a long time out of the country, I was full of joy and excitement. Major heartaches happened, but thankfully no incidents of bereavement of the loved ones. 

I had already missed everything that meant so much to me. In addition to that, there are some important and difficult personal stuff that required me to be in the country in-person, including fulfilling the Fulbright requirement, and renewing my papers before returning to the US. 

But people warned me that I shouldn’t return to Nigeria. I was one of them few years ago, telling my friend in Malaysia not come back. But five years ago is different from the present, or even a year ago when I first left. So, truly, I had no idea how worse the country was. 

Fast forward to my departure, I was still elated. I was going to reunite with my roots. In addition to meeting my family once more, my visit to Nigeria marked a significant crossroad in my life whose intensity I only later came to fathom. 

I had taken for granted the ease of the American life. Basic things of life suddenly disappeared from my life in Nigeria. Now that I have experienced what a good life was, everything became hard. I couldn’t bear the brunt of the Nigerian life except it’s extremely necessitated by choicelessness. Nigeria is progressively getting worse thanks to the inept policies of the Buhari’s government. Almost every day is worse than the previous day since the start of the administration, from security to economy to education... I also experienced small ugly feelings that consoled me and provided me with a justification for my intent. 

I launched into the preparation for my return to the States few days after my arrival even though I was not entirely ready for the choice life threw at me. In the first journey I knew I would be back to my roots. I was hopeful. I was not indecisive. I knew home was Nigeria. But home for now, my mind reasoned, is no longer Nigeria. Everything this time represented something lurking beneath the surface. It was intense and emotional. 

Never had I got myself thinking so deeply about my life. 

Childhood friends no longer live in the same street we grew up. They either married and left the neighborhood or have left the state entirely for the livelihood, which left me almost lonely, or living with people as convenient mates. I am also creaking from heavy responsibilities on my shoulder. So, I had to leave, nonetheless. 

The first journey was totally unlike the second. I was a visitor this time, running around and getting things done as though I was on a borrowed time. Bewilderment set in my eyes when asked about my place of residency. I get confused momentarily before I reassured and countered my imagination. Time and again I asked myself: Am I not Nigerian anymore? 

I emptied my closet and distributed its content. I took down my personal library, picked the few books that I wanted and donated out the rest. These are books that formed my intellectual formative years. I had plans for them for the later years of my life. I took out my jotter containing my personal notes, social media and bank accounts details and login credentials. 

The string of these “casual” actions depicted my life tittering on the borderline of “before” and “after”. I don’t see myself giving up on the good life any time soon. My current life is my answered prayer. I have worked and prayed for it! But I have found myself agonizing for it when it finally set to happen. It is one thing to prattle about relocation, quite another thing to come face-to-face with the reality. It is good to recognize and accept this fact of life that we give up something in order to gain something. To be able to make this decision requires uncommon courage and strength. 

The full weight and enormity of what was going on fell on me when I finally set for the airport. The car arrived. My mother and siblings followed me out for goodbye. The siblings were jubilating, but mother and I were aware of the silent mood in the air. Her heart was heavy. My eyes were brimming with tears. I was emotionally breaking down, but I managed to control my tears. My siblings went back home. The jubilation died down. My mother stood there. She stood there forever. We were exchanging silent words. She couldn’t leave. I just realized other than my mother I had no one to cry for me. I entered the car and avoided her eyes. I didn’t know if my friends noticed my tears, but I want to believe they had seen it and only let it pass. 

Off we zoomed to the airport, leaving my mother behind, where my situation became more pronounced. The car parked, the two friends came out, brought out my luggage. As we shook hands and the steward loaded the bags on the trolley, the touch of finality of it all coldly dawned me; nothing could be repeated. I was leaving everything behind. Every step I took into the Departures is the last one. 

After some minutes in the departures lounge, we were called for boarding. Our plane jetted off to Abuja for the onward journey. I sat very pensive and emotional, thinking of my mother, thinking of my life! My shoulders convulsed. Something broke in me and made me stronger immediately afterwards. This was not silent tears. A member of the cabin crew came over me. The woman led me to a private room and asked if I was OK. I was going back to the States! 

This painful decision is not entirely for my own sake. It’s for the siblings to stay in school. For my own kids and their mother when they come! On top of everything else, I shouldn’t be blind to what blessing this represents knowing how Nigeria is! 

Madison, WI