Today, I went to the market with Renny and Aunty Bose. The market was on the side of a road, and we parked in what would probably be the shoulder or a sidewalk in the US. There were cars crammed into that space, and I couldn’t see how we would ever get out. The “area boys” who told us we could park there said that we should leave the keys. Aunty Bose was reluctant, but finally gave them the keys. We walked to the main shopping area where I tried to hold my breath. The smell was horrendous. We walked around the crowded, dirty, sweltering market until they found what they wanted, and I felt like I’d lost 5 pounds from sweating so much. We walked back to the car praying that it would still be there. It wasn’t exactly where we left it and it was surrounded by several more cars. How were we supposed to get out of that jumble? At that point, the “valet” walked up and started moving the cars behind our car and narrowly dodging other cars parked on the road. Driver’s Ed. never taught me how to park like that.
"Valet" parking
After the market, we headed to the tailor to get my dresses altered for Thursday and Saturday. When the tailor heard that I was American, she treated me like royalty. Not really, but she was nicer to me. Aunty Bose told her that I was interested in taking more dresses home with me, and the tailor offered to make them at no cost for me. We planned to go to another market to buy material, but she told us that the shop across from her sold better quality than what is found in the market. It is also more expensive. I’m sure they scratched each other’s backs all the time. We bought the material anyway and told her we would pick it up later in the week.
After leaving the tailor, we went to Mr. Bello’s office. He took us to a late lunch at a popular restaurant where we had pounded yam, efor “vegetable” stew, stuck fish for me and goat for them. Stuck fish is dried cod that is later cooked in a sauce. The server brought it to the table and cut it up for me. It looked painful just watching her cut that tough meat, but I decided to try it anyway. I tried to bite into a small piece and felt like I might lose my teeth. It was so tough to chew. I gave up and just ate the yam.
Pounded yam
Before going home, Mr. Bello decided to stop at an old friend’s house that was around 75 years old. He introduced me as "his daughter’s friend from America". The man asked where I was from in America, and I told him I live in Houston, TX. He asked where my parents were from as he studied my face. Then he asked, “Are you from Nigeria?” I reminded him that I was American. He said, “Yes, but where are you from in Africa?” I told him I didn’t know, but it was most likely somewhere in western Africa. This prompted a conversation about the slave trade and how we Africans in America have no memory of our origins. Mr. Bello told us that he visited a slave port in Ghana and how unimaginable it was to think that people were shipped from that place never to see home again and many times they were sold by their own people for trinkets. I asked them if schools in Nigeria taught about the slave trade, but they did not remember learning much about it in school. Renny asked if I felt at home in Nigeria, like maybe there was part of me that reconnected and felt familiar in this land. Maybe if I had that feeling it meant that my ancestors were form that area. I didn’t really feel that way in Nigeria. (In fact, there is only one place where I have ever felt that I truly belonged and my spirit felt at peace there.) Maybe if I visited Ghana, or Mali, or Niger, or Cameroon, or some other country, I would feel that I was finally at my African (original) home in my spirit. As I flew into Cairo, I did feel elated about being in Africa in general. (Even though Egypt doesn’t believe it is African.) I felt like I should kiss the African ground when I walked outside the airport to say that I was home, but I didn’t.
I plan to come back to Africa many times in my life. I hope one day soon I will be able to answer the question “Where are you from?” with “I am from ________.”, and say it confidently and definitively.
Post script – I felt most connected to the African continent when I stood on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean later in my stay.
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