Land of My Birth

Something like this.

Something like this.

I was born and largely bred in the commercial capital of my country, a state hundreds flock to daily in search of greener pastures. Although I had a fairly sheltered upbringing, my education, my fashion sense, my life was irrevocably formed by this city. It runs in my blood, through my veins.

My family moved to a smaller state, a more rural place. Not rural as in lacking electricity or basic amenities, but certainly less developed. I suffered a severe culture shock, starting with the drive to my new home when I gazed in wonder at a woman in full traditional wrappers and head-tie riding a motorcycle. In my new home, taxis were nonexistent, buses were few and far between, motorcycles were the main mode of transportation, and it was considered a great achievement to own a motorcycle. I swore I’d trek to the ends of the earth before that happened.

I consider Lagos to be my home, the land of my birth, always. I don’t think I could make a home, have a family in the place I’ve been for close to a decade. At the same time, I’m not sure I could once more be a permanent in this big city. The hustle and bustle, the endless din might be too much for me.

… And upon my return to the great city of my birth, I fell into a huge waist-high manhole and had to be hauled out by some young men. C’est la vie.


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5 thoughts on “Land of My Birth

  1. Hi Tobi,

    I am still laughing at “I fell into a huge waist-high manhole and had to be hauled out by some young men”

    Ah! No place like Lagos. XD

    1. It was like Nollywood. My mum and sister were in front of me and they kept walking for a few more seconds. Then, they realized I was no longer walking with them. They turned around to see me flailing in the manhole. Some young guys had to pull me out like a bag of rice. 😀

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