Home Sweet Home

Home is where the heart is. Home is where we find rest. Home is where your problems lose their power, they are shared at home; the problem is pulled out and laughed at. your mask comes off at home and you are seen. at home you find peace.

I am going back home, going back to Nigeria, 7 years after I left. I left to seek better, a better career, better opportunities and a better sense of self. I am returning to my fathers house, not permanently, just for some days. Oh, I have missed my home, the food, my people, the abundance of blackness, the language that is English but with a twist. The random dancing. The music playing in the markets and its rowdiness. I have missed my people and everything about Nigeria.

I also missed my family. My dad, my mom. I miss being the baby in my family. You see I am the last born and the only girl and even though that comes with its own set of responsibilities, the men in my family adore and care for me. They never want me hurt or me to want for anything.

All this I love and truly miss but I am also terrified. I left my home at the age of 22, about 7 years ago. I was not entirely an adult at that age but not a kid. I was still very dependent on my parents for everything; housing, car, food, money- everything. In other to receive these things from my parents without them hesitating, I was to stay on their good side. I was allowed to rebel after all what is a teenager without some sort of rebellion right. But the rebellion had its limit, I remember screaming at my mom one day and storming off into my room and I banged the door after me, I opened the door again with such swiftness and screamed an apology to her for banging the door, then I shut the door more gently and stayed in my room to cry. I could rebel or be a naughty teenager but to a very small extent.

My parents saw me as a child when it came to my opinions. It was a clash though the way they saw me. On one hand they expected me to be the woman of the house, to cook and clean and take care of the house but when it came to decision making and having an opinion especially one different from theirs then I was a baby. It was frustrating living in a home where I wasn’t heard or taken seriously, it was annoying, and it was sad, but I managed and when I knew I couldn’t take it any more I left. I told myself it was either I left, or I killed myself. I was tired of coloring within their tight lines, I needed to deviate from their path, I needed to breathe, I needed to live, I chose life and I ran.

And now I am going back. I am currently sitting at the airport thinking about what the next 10 days hold for me. I am returning a 29-year-old woman. Of course, I have grown; especially mentally. I am surer of myself, but I cannot help but worry how that would be received. Would my maturity be accepted as growth or as a loss of path?

You see though I have grown and matured, my maturity isn’t exactly what my parents expect and might still be seen as the musings of a young person. My life choices differ a lot from what my parents had in mind. For example- and this might seem so small, but I feel it is important to share to give you my dear reader some context- I have always loved tattoos and piercings. Its not like I wanted to fill my whole body with ink and piercings or whatever I just always wanted to get a few cute tattoos and piercings but my very Christian parents were strongly against this, well I have my piercings and some tattoos now and I can’t help but wonder how they would receive me. My dad especially, he wants me innocent and decent enough for a man to see and want to marry this is funny.

There is the issue of my sexuality and why I do not have a boyfriend or fiancé since I am almost 30. I should have plans to marry and have kids by now. Honestly my sexuality has taken so many turns and I have decided I am attracted to people and not gender. And honestly most times when I see myself being attracted to a man, I am just seeing him through the eyes of my parents like how good of a husband will this man be or how good of a father, sometimes I think about how efficiently he’d be able to lift me and fuck me but mostly I think of the former. I just look at him to fill a space in my life and not because I like him. So, what do I say when I get home and my parents sit me down to talk about my future, do I keep quiet and be that teenager they know that just receives their words and promises to think about it or am I going to stand up for myself and speak my truth? What are the consequences of speaking up? Aunty Audre Lorde said your silence will not protect you- but wont it in this case? I am terrified of my home going.

Another thing, before I left Nigeria, I spoke to my grandma who told me to take it easy and remember to always be safe. I tried my best, I listened to her, unfortunately she isn’t here anymore to report my tales to and to share my journey with. She died 2 years ago. I hated myself for not returning home to see her sooner. Did I get lost in my shit and forget I had my mama rooting for me? I think about that so much. In the end she didn’t remember much so there was no point being on the phone with her. But I remember and think of her everyday. I wonder how she would have received the news about my female lovers, would she look at me as an abomination or a stain in the family or would she like she always did- open her arms and call me by my middle name which means I have a good destiny and tell me that that part of me does not remove me from her family. That part of me does nothing to my blood, her blood still runs through my veins so there is no way I can be an abomination. In a way though, I feel closer to her in her death, it sounds weird, but I can kind of imagine her and speak to her and she responds. I had an altar with her picture and one time, I came home and my apartment smelt of her like she had been chilling in my house- I might pass out if I see her again in real life outside of my dreams but knowing that her spirit lingers with me as a sort of guide and a companion and I am able to connect with her in my dreams makes me feel powerful and sort of like a god. After all isn’t is only gods that can talk to the dead.

Amidst the fear and anxiety there is so much excitement. I am excited to jump on my daddy like a little child and to laugh at his very dry jokes, to go with him on his morning walks. To talk to him about life and the world and hear his opinions. My father is a lovely man that is when he isn’t lording his views over you. I cannot wait to be teased by my big brother to look at his face as he calls me small madam with love. I will make so many videos and post them everywhere for whomever to watch, this is my family. These are my people, and I am going home just for a little while to find rest amid love.