Homecoming Series #2: The Deadly Cocktail

Moving back for me was a nightmare. I’m that guy who upon leaving Nigeria for 6th Form, only came back during Christmas holidays. I never wanted to be here if I didn’t have to and Christmas was the only time I could come home for a short enough period that allowed my parents retain some respect for me and would have some fun activity attached to every day. I never applied for a Masters because I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to do and when my search for jobs proved fruitless, I knew I was coming back home for Law School. The only good thing is I have a British passport so I could always go back when I wanted. Well, it sounded good on paper.

I’ve been here for almost two years and I complain like I just arrived yesterday. There’s the frustration of not making as much progress with my life as I’ll like to. There’s the fact that jobs here pay crap, leaving you with no choice than to shamelessly demand some form of support from your parents. There are the never ending logistical nightmares and conflicts that tend to stem from your parents forgetting how old you actually are and treating you like you’re the same kid you were when you first left home. Moving back has made me more cynical of people than I’ve ever been because I’ve seen how Nigerians take you for a mug until you prove you’re not. As an aspiring fake deep creative, the opportunities here are quite limited so I don’t even feel myself being close to the peak of my capabilities. The whole process is tedious. Worst of all, my love and religious lives have suffered. In England, I tended to pay attention to my devotionals and attended church twice a week on average. I’m yet to find a church I actually like here and this is reflected in my religious inconsistencies. My relationship with the girl I loved couldn’t work out because the distance was unbearable. I’m the kind of rockstar who loves to be in a relationship so it’s quite joyless not to be in one. I’m left with the deadly cocktail that is cynicism, perma frustration and a lack of love and faith.

In all this, I still see little signs that make me feel I can make something of myself here. I understand that my feeling isn’t unique to me:  most of my friends are going through the same and in that I gain an odd sense of relief: I’m not alone. Also, as cliché as it is, I have the advantage of looking at things from an exposed viewpoint making me feel that when my Eureka moment eventually comes, I might have an edge. And we all know Nigeria loves a market leader. Also, it feels good to be close to my parents. There are a lot of lessons to be gleaned from being in close proximity to them. I also plan on experimenting with churches in the hope that in the process I will find the right fit for spiritual guidance.

I still don’t know how Nigeria and I’ll turn out.

But I’m more open to finding out.