Lagos calls me Stranger

You have to be kidding me, did I just feel a bump on the run way, or did I just imagine that. O well!! It’s time to smell that hot humid air of my first love, Nigeria. Time to feel sweat trickle down my brow. Time to feel that kiss from my ever faithful darling "Mosquito", O well, to be honest I had been dreaming of this day for so long.

Classic! Naija! Oops, am I allowed to say that Dora Akinyuli (joker). Everyone’s struggling and pushing to leave this sandwiched economy class cabin. I bask in the rain of abuses, accents and local dialects engulfing me, what a beautiful mess” (Copyright Murielle John Africa). Classic! Naija!

Finally, after waiting as a civilised person would! in other words what a Nigerian would deem as “dulling”, I stepped unto the aisle and made my way to the exit.

I heard a man bellow out “Oga anything for your boy” I answered him, with a happy “I no get anything for you” smile. As I made my way out of The Murtala Mohammed Airport, I was suddenly hit with this feeling of Nostalgia. I felt like the Prince of Zamunda, the crowd ahead of me definitely did not make matters any better, as they welcomed me like a royal.

I recognized a pair of glasses in the crowd, it’s was dad’s! I wove to him and he came out of the crowd behind the barricade with a big hug. “Shey Shey” He said. How was your trip? Hope customs and immigration did not harass you?

I looked around, and noticed how different everything looked, it seemed not long ago, I said farewell to Nigeria, not long ago since I said farewell to t he hustle. To go do my Master’s degree and a PhD (Pretty hard Degree). This doesn’t look like my home town anymore! The streets seemed to be filled with “Eko O ni baje” (Lagos will not spoil), street lights illuminated the once dark Third mainland bridge. was it me or did I not notice any police check points, did we actually stop for the red light. Wow! I really am, loving this. No sign of women on the streets of Sanusi Fafunwa, No beggar living desolate on the side of the road.

I stared at the pavement that once used to call me friend, which once used to lead me home. We drove through the gates into the house I so dearly used to call home. I step into light instead of the darkness I used to call NEPA or PHCN as some might call it.

This is too much for me to take in, why does Lagos calls me stranger, a traveller, is this home? I shut my eyes and wake up, in my tiny British room, in my small town called York.

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