Editorial by Eradajere Oleita, Founder of The Chip Bag Project
The moment the airplane gently touched down on Nigerian soil after a decade-long absence, a tidal wave of emotions overwhelmed me.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Delta Airlines welcomes you to Lagos, Nigeria. The local time is 11 a.m. For your safety and those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened and keep the aisle clear until we are parked.”
As the cabin doors opened, Lagos’s warm embrace enveloped me. I breathed in deeply, recognizing that this was more than a return to a physical place; it was a profound journey of self-discovery. Framed as a homecoming, this expedition would unravel into a spiritual experience, cleansing my soul and sculpting me in ways I had yet to fathom.
Amid the bustling airport chaos, the announcement resonated, welcoming natives and visitors and setting the stage for an unconventional homecoming. Stepping onto the runway, the distinct aroma of Lagos filled my senses, forging an immediate and profound connection to the birthplace where family stories unfolded and the fabric of my identity was woven.
Home was not merely a location; it was a visceral feeling—a therapeutic exploration of self, reconnecting with friends and family in a space where the hue of my skin was not a defining factor. In Nigeria, conversations about race shifted to the background, if not disappearing altogether. The sandy shores became a sacred space where I was an American amidst a group of strangers whose life experiences intrigued many. Discrimination still existed, but it danced to a different rhythm, a nuanced narrative distinct from the racial lens I had encountered elsewhere.
“What is it like being Black?” a stranger asked. This question isn’t foreign to me, but in this context, it seemed more pressing. And more questions and statements followed.
“What is it like being Black in America?” “We saw the George Floyd situation, but I didn’t know things like that happened there. I thought corrupt police were a Nigerian issue.” I pondered on these queries because I wanted to respond, but I couldn’t figure out how to explain them concisely without becoming tangential.
So I said, “Being Black in America is like running to catch a bus, and you get there and pay your fare, just to find out not only can you not get on the bus and you can’t even get your money back, but then the bus gets to the next stop and picks up someone else.”
My journey unfolded as I navigated the vibrant streets, transitioning to a destination that would be my haven for the next few months. My awakening began with the surrealism of inhabiting a different version of myself, unburdened by the constraints of being a Black, poor, overworked, and confused immigrant girl of the past decade.
Returning to Lagos was an altered experience. The Lagos I knew as a 17-year-old was now a canvas painted with the remnants of the End SARS protests, vibrant with change and hungry for progress. The city felt like home – an uninviting haven teeming with possibilities. The most poignant moment of my journey came when I reunited with my older sister after a decade of separation—marked by sporadic texts and calls during which she had cultivated a rugged exterior.
Our first hug released a torrent of tears, a mixture of happiness, longing, sadness, love, and overwhelming emotions. My knees buckled as I fell into her arms, the audible noises mirroring the depths of our shared connection.
I am home!
Amidst the bustling streets, roadside boutiques adorned me with pieces telling tales of the city’s vibrant fashion scene. The talented soul, Francesca (@nailsnlashbycheska), became a brushstroke in my Lagos narrative, her artistry leaving an indelible mark of beauty.
In the heart of Lagos, I immersed myself in the vibrant fusion of tradition and modernity. Fashion shows seamlessly blending the old with the new, such as the collaboration between the famous Nigerian brand Ash Luxe and the Fela Kuti estate, unveiled an intergenerational artistry that resonated with my soul.
In the lively cadence of Nigeria, where the revelry knew no bounds, a new world unfolded. From savoring 4 a.m. suya sandwiches to immersing in the pulsating beats of Fela Kuti at the iconic Shrine, Lagos revealed itself as a city that never sleeps. Here, amidst endless celebrations and unwavering resilience, I unearthed the true essence of life.
Allow me to share a little secret—I harbor a profound love for plantains. Some might even say it borders on obsession, symbolized by a plantain tattoo etched onto my skin. In the quest to reconnect with my roots, I sought out new companions. This exploration led me to the vibrant community of plantain enthusiasts known as Dodo Gang. Dodo is a Nigerian slang word for plantain. Discovering this group and its charismatic leader felt like a reunion of kindred spirits. It became a place where fellow plantain lovers gathered, adding yet another enriching layer to my journey of rediscovery.
Meeting talented artists like Rufai from Kingsville Visual Gallery opened doors to opportunities. Together, we crafted magic in Tarkwa Bay, a beach near the Lagos harbor. This artistic collaboration became a testament to the creative energy flowing through Nigeria’s streets.
These encounters weren’t just artistic; they became threads woven into the fabric of my framily (friends who feel like family). In these spaces, I discovered that Lagos is more than a city; it’s a living, breathing entity, always ready to embrace me as a part of my homecoming narrative.
In the aftermath of my return to Nigeria, the journey’s significance transcended the mere act of arriving on familiar soil; it was a spiritual rebirth. The expedition delved deep into the recesses of my soul, resurrecting forgotten fragments of my identity and etching profound changes I had never envisaged.
Before my departure, life revolved around the relentless pursuit of perfection. A constant smile adorned my face as I, fueled by an immigrant’s desire to excel, consistently overworked myself with minimal acknowledgment. I became synonymous with the girl capable of doing it all. The immigrant’s drive to prove oneself as the best at everything dominated my mindset, perpetuating the fear of not being liked, recognized, or, heaven forbid, deemed mediocre.
Yet, in its majestic humility, Nigeria served as the great equalizer. Every corner I turned, I encountered immensely talented individuals yearning for the opportunities I had taken for granted. In a land pulsating with potential, my obsession with relevance waned. The States, where I effortlessly commanded recognition in every room, transformed into a distant memory.
In Nigeria, I was another Nigerian, liberated from the weight of expectations, and it was freeing. The stateside limelight I once basked in gave way to a newfound freedom. I had the agency to decide how I presented myself each day. This realization ignited a soul-searching question: “How do I want to be introduced?”
Far from being a mere destination, Nigeria emerged as a catalyst for self-discovery, inviting me to celebrate the vibrant tapestry of my heritage.
My trip back to the States left me with a lot of time to think; one thing I knew for sure was that I wasn’t the same person that left 2.5 months ago prior when I first landed on Nigerian soil. When I left Detroit and got on that plane, only one thing played in my mind: I couldn’t wait to do anything.
Upon arriving at the airport back in Detroit, I felt anxiety, stress, and pains in my body I hadn’t felt since my initial departure. When I landed, I didn’t feel the longing to be seen, to dive right into work or even life. I felt a deep longing to wait. Something my trip changed about me was that I no longer wanted to do everything; my body didn’t want to hold the stress of doing everything and being everything for everyone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Delta Airlines welcomes you to Detroit, Michigan. The local time is 5:30 p.m. For your safety and those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened and keep the aisle clear until we are parked.”
Looking out the window, I heard the lady beside me say, “Back to business as usual.” But I didn’t want business as usual; for the last 2.5 months, I woke up when I wanted, did what I wanted, lived how I wanted, and ate what I wanted. I lived without limitations; I couldn’t think of how I wanted to return to it. After I passed customs, I waited in the lobby for my best friend to pick me up. The cold air hit my face, whispering, “You’re not in Lagos anymore, girl.”
This transformative journey has reshaped my inclination to be all things to everyone and shifted my yearning to conform and my compulsion to constantly act. Stepping out of the whirlwind of life for months made it abundantly clear that life persists, with or without you, and the need to do it all fades away.
It altered my pursuit of perfection and relevance, challenging the notion that the world would pause and eagerly await my return after leaving a meticulously crafted existence. Instead, the world moved forward, and my return felt like an uninterrupted continuum—as if I had never left. This revelation prompted a pause, a moment to rethink my approach. Nigeria taught me to let go of the fear of missing out, because life remains steadfast, patiently awaiting my return.
Although the Lagos of my childhood had evolved, being back in Detroit after months away revealed that shedding old habits is a prerequisite for the birth of new ones. While I hoped my journey would revolutionize me, I’ve undergone subtle changes that will gradually unfold over the years. I no longer harbor the same feelings or aspirations, and despite longing for reconnection with friends and familiar spaces, I am cognizant that my interactions will be different—and, importantly, I welcome that change.
In the rhythmic pulses of Afrobeat sounds and the aromatic symphony of roadside food vendors, each moment has stitched together a transformative experience that now shapes my understanding of home. With its pulsating art, rich culture, and warm embrace, Lagos stands as a patient sanctuary awaiting my return. Each homecoming promises new revelations and connections, weaving an intricate narrative that binds me to the heart of Nigeria.
About Post Author
