I haven’t been to Lagos for two years now. But as the school session drew to a close, I knew I had to do everything possible to come back for the holidays. Even before we finished our exams, I started reminding my dad of the promise he made to me last year—that I would travel back home.
I live in Lagos with my parents, but as an indigene of Enugu, I returned there for university together with my two brothers, where we stay with my grandma. My dad had assured me last year that I would be allowed to come back without any hassles, but I could tell my parents, especially my dad, were worried. I had never traveled alone, and being the only girl, the protective attitude was understandable.
Also, I was (well, still am) very tiny—tiny enough that someone could just slip me inside a “pako” sack and no one would notice.
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Luckily for me—or unluckily, depending on how you see it—my dad was scheduled to attend the burial ceremony of a close friend in Anambra State. He came to Enugu earlier and stayed with us. During his stay, I reminded him repeatedly that I would be traveling back with him. He agreed, so the plan was to go with my dad and his friend to the burial in Anambra before continuing on to Lagos.
But before that, my dad decided that all of us—my brothers and I—should first visit Nenwe in Aninri, which is my village. It was there that I had the most peaceful sleep I’d had in a long time.
On Tuesday, my dad, his friend, and I left around 7 a.m. His friend drove us in a Highlander to Anambra. However, as we searched for the particular town where the burial was being held, we got lost and confused by the many towns with similar names. Eventually, we found our way to Nnobi, where we attended the solemn affair.
What pained me the most about the burial was watching his little children—who could not have been more than ten years old—pour sand on their father’s grave.
After the burial, we spent the night in Anambra and continued the journey the next day.
One interesting thing I noticed about Anambra is that they are suffering. Tell me, why would you see signs reading “Solution is here” or “Soludo is working” every five kilometers? Why would a governor who is truly working need to announce it so loudly?
Anyway, that one has passed. Nothing remarkable happened again on the road—until we got to Lagos.
A book says nearly all the men in Lagos are mad. Well, that’s not true. It’s not just the men—everyone, the men, women, children, and even myself—we are all mad.
In Lagos, I was terrified. Everyone drove like lunatics through the madness of Oshodi traffic. And then there was the stench. Still, despite it all, I am happy to be back home.
