I can feel the buzzing and excitement in the air. My parents were going up and down, making sure that everything was perfect. We were all going to Nigeria for two weeks, where we would stay with my extended family. This was my first time going to Nigeria so I did not know what to expect. Of course, I knew that what the media portrayed about Nigeria was not true, but I still wondered what I would see. Would the roads be paved, or filled with dirt, and how would the people react to us? These were questions that I had in my mind but never spoke aloud.

We landed at the Murtala Muhammed International Airport in Lagos. This was all familiar to my siblings since they all had been to Nigeria before. All of them spent middle school, three years of their lives at the Caleb International School which was in Lagos. So they were familiar with the area and how to talk to and approach other people. Contrary to myself, where I spent them in America, due to people saying that I was the baby of the household and needed protection. We finally met with the rest of the family, most importantly my grandmother. Even in her old age she was pervaded with life and energy. Her luminescent skin was a beautiful mix of mahogany and a golden brown. She had the same marks across her face like my father, which represent a person’s tribe, family or heritage, but even with them she was so beautiful. My grandmother is a very important part of our family, and is respected by everyone around her. She raised by father, solely by herself. She represents everything a woman should be and is a great role model for me. Back in America, my father would tell me countless stories of how his mom helped raise him, keep him out of trouble and make him the man he is today. So I have always held her in a high regard and have always wanted to meet her.

As the days passed by, I just went with the routine of things: wake up, have morning prayers, eat breakfast, relax, go out to explore and come home. The cycle would just repeat itself. Over time I realized there was a problem. I didn’t feel connected to anything Nigeria had to offer. I felt like a foreigner in my own country. The only things I knew about Nigeria was some of the cultural food and my family. I didn’t know the language, how people interacted with each other or the lifestyle. I couldn’t even have a conversation with my grandmother because she didn’t know english. On the other hand, my siblings were more accustomed with the area, they knew parts of the language and were familiar with the people. I was torn between America, where I was born and Nigeria which was where I was from. This made me confused and angry because I was supposed to love Nigeria and embrace the culture. Everyone else seemed to fit in just fine besides me. I had become whitewashed to the point that I knew nothing about Nigeria. I was uncomfortable being surrounded by a culture that I didn’t feel a part of. America was everything that I knew and cared for. At that point in my life, I didn’t know anything about my ethnic background. Whenever I would leave the compound with my siblings or parents, I felt that I was enclosed in a bubble of doubt and shame.

I felt like I didn’t belong in the environment I was in. The main barrier that held me back was language. Mostly everyone in the house knew Yoruba, either they could communicate freely or only knew a few words. I on the other hand knew nothing so I wasn’t able to talk with most of my family. During my stay, I felt that I was being looked down upon because I didn’t know the language. Because I didn’t know Yoruba, I couldn’t talk with my grandmother. Almost every child has the experience of being able to talk with their grandparents, share stories and experiences except for me. Throughout the trip, I kept to myself and was quite reserved. Everywhere I went, I was reminded of what I was missing out on and that I could be better.

Many years have passed since my first trip to Nigeria. I’m glad to say that I have improved from where I was before. Even though I am not perfect, I am still trying my best. Now I am more aware of my culture, I has become a passion of mine to learn as much as I can. I ask my parents questions about how life was like for them back home, and they don’t hold back. I even know a few words in Yoruba like E kaale which means good evening and E ku aaro which means good morning. I can even talk to my grandmother now, with some help from my parents, of course. Through our few conversations mixed with broken Yoruba and English, I have come to learn many things about how she grew up and raised my father. I have grown more in tune with my culture and ethnicity and I am proud of that.

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