"Japa"

Nigeria -a country we aspire to leave

When reminiscing about the past, it's impossible to forget the sights and sounds that defined those cherished moments of your life.

You do not know if back then you enjoyed the way your gateman back in Nigeria touched the dust to greet you that memorable Christmas when you were back home in Agbor.

You do not know if you enjoyed the way your mom danced- the Yoruba steps she executed flawlessly or your dad's awkward yet heartfelt hugs.

You do not know if you enjoyed the neighborhood's curious glances as your American husband drove into the compound with a grand Infiniti jeep that you had insisted he shipped from Texas.

However,it brought an undeniable pride-one that swelled within you like a pregnant woman's burgeoning middle.

You actually liked it because like someone had confirmed,America does not recognize big men the way Nigerians do. No one says “sir” and takes all your sentences as a command. But you know what you faced in the abroad as your mom calls it. You know things are not rosy or sweet as you've packaged yourself to be.

It began as a journey that commenced five years ago when the suggestion of marrying a white man was met with mixed feelings from your family. Aunty Chigozie had suggested it.

"A oyinbo ke"was your mom's response. Your dad only grunted in agreement. It was clear he wasn't in support however, you convinced him.

You described your ordeal to your friends as a search for greener pastures. You didn't know you were going to experience shege because everyone in Nigeria had painted abroad as paradise.

However,you missed the simpler times when your dad,during his five minutes break as a carpenter would buy dankwa balls and guguru with epa(popcorn with roasted groundnuts).You and your brother would crunch happily while your dad hustled on.The togetherness in those moments held a warmth that transcended material wealth.

You once heard from an American singer Taylor swift:

“Often the good things in your life are lighter”

You had the time to stop and smell the roses just in front of your house and life was so simple then.

Poverty however made you take decisions that chipped away at your values. It made you suffer in silence and question yourself for the choices you made. Poverty made you suffer in the abroad. Not the Nigerian brutal and overt kind of suffering that is served, rather the zipped mouth,tears choking and lonely suffering that comes with bending every single bit of yourself in that dark lonely basement that Americans are sacred of entering in movies you had watched as a child back in Nigeria. Your integrity was fading and you had slowly discarded your preferences in exchange for that of your oyinbo husband.

Slowly,the initial charm gave way to a hidden agony.

George Bush, your oyinbo husband, when you first met him was charming. He treated you nicely. 6ft tall with brown eyes. You do not however recognize the potbellied man who leaves you drained,weak and feeling queasy while you cry yourself to sleep every night on the gigantic bed you were once fascinated with.

You'd wake up with pains and you'd go to the hospital to dress your sores up in preparation for yet another beating. A recurring cycle that drives you to the basement yet again to cry your eyes out.

Now you were doing this for your family, enduring so they could live well and not just survive.

Tonight, you'll liberate yourself from the cycle of abuse, seizing your emancipation.

You had saved about a thousand dollars and that has stamped your freedom.

So when your potbellied oyinbo husband comes in for his usual toxic hobby,you hold the pangolo tightly and I banged his head. As you described to your younger brother much later. Your brother gasps and after a minute silence,to his “when are you coming back?”, you respond “tomorrow”.

Five years later, you find yourself driving your Jeep, offering a ride to your cousin's daughter and Aunty Chigozie. That same Aunty Chigozie. As you wait in the gridlocked traffic in Sabo, Yaba, your heart clenches when you hear your young cousin express her desire to japa to America like Aunty Chidiebube.

Like you, Aunty Chidiebube.

You recognize that the painful awareness that Nigeria is a place to escape from, a sentiment that shouldn't weigh heavily on the shoulders of the young has been laid perfectly in her.

Beneath the surface of your success story lies a tapestry of sacrifice- no one except your brother knew about. Your story is one of the many stories that have been encapsulated into the word hustle for relatives back at home while you battle with the American system in order to get your green card. Hustle-the part-time job in Starbucks. Hustle-the cleaner job in a Domino's Pizza restaurant. Hustle-working as Mr and Mrs Dalton's babysitter.

Throughout your journey, you have come to understand that aspirations come with prerequisites.

Your Aunty laughs and begins to state them "You'll need your Nigerian passport,visa, financial resources…

She goes on with the list and in your mind you add the remaining few important things she must have intentionally forgotten; a oyinbo husband,endurance for shege, water in your eyes,confidence and lastly,a very good pangolo.