The Nigeria Trip: A Paradise Lost

I wasn't sure how to write about the happenings of the Nigeria Trip, so I'm gonna put it all in one post. I wrote a journal during my time there but it's about 33 pages long, so I'll have to abbreviate and summarize much of what I wrote. Still though, I think this will be the longest post I ever write.

Leader

I made one request before I agreed to go on the Nigeria trip. I told Rita that I wanted to visit the burial ground for Leader Archibong Edem Inyang. Next to myself, I consider him the greatest man that ever breathed air on this planet. 

Leader was the founder of a church here in Nigeria, and was well-respected by just about everyone. Legend has it that, when I was born 3 months premature, my parents called Leader and begged him to come down from Nigeria to pray for me. I was born at Coney Island hospital but had to be transferred to the Downstate Medical Center. He came down and spent 3 days praying for me as I fought to stay alive. When the 3rd day came, he stopped his prayers and told them that I'll be just fine and to stop worrying. Two days after, I was breathing on my own and was, as predicted, just fine. Physically, I mean. Anytime my parents would get into their fights and want to separate, they would call Leader to mediate. Whenever he would come over, I would love to sit and watch TV with him. He loved watching the Price is Right and Looney Tunes cartoons. And when he slept, I love sitting next to him while he lay in my dad's recliner with his big feet up in the air.

At night, when my parents would argue in front of him, I could hear them from my room. Then, I would hear a very soft voice say some words and they'd shut up. That was Leader. A man of very few words, but every word counted. I loved the guy and considered him more important than all the members of my family combined.

The Great One

Leader and his magic cane

A picture of the funeral... I should have been there

Leader rests in peace

Unfortunately, his burial site was too far for us to travel, so his daughter showed me pictures of the funeral. Upon seeing the photos, a lot of buried emotions came back. Leader with his calm smile and infamous cane. I remembered the man, and thought about him throughout much of the trip. Even now...

Rita

Rita single-handedly ruined this trip for me. When I came to Nigeria, my plan was to keep my eyes open and my mouth shut. I was always taught that the more people know about you, the more they can hurt you. So I kept my mouth shut and sized everyone up. Rita, on the other hand, wasn’t as bright. Because she didn’t have her vehicle yet, we had to take taxi cabs for the entire trip. We would be driven around by strangers and Rita would constantly ask me personal questions in front of them. She would poke fun at me and the people around her would join in. She made every moment with her absolutely miserable and I’ll never go anywhere in public with her again. Examples?

Whenever we would cross the street on foot, my mom would constantly try to hold my hand. The third time she did it, I whispered into her ear "Don't try to hold my hand again. I'm not 5 (years old)." She would argue with oy that, because she paid for the trip, I shouldn't have to go to his side of the family and should stay with hers. WHO CARES??!! Then there were the motorcycle cabs. Because the bridge that leads to Rita’s apartments was out, we had to ride on the back of motorcycle taxis, called okadas.  Every time I was about to get on, she would tell her guy, "Be careful with him. This is his first time in Nigeria and he's never been on a motorcycle before." I looked like a bitch and I think she enjoyed doing that. I had enough and told her to stop doing that. I could see the two men snickering at us arguing, as if to say "Look at this big bitch over here. Better be gentle with mommy's American boy!" I was embarrassed, and I truly hate being embarrassed in public. One can say that this is what all moms do, but there was a tone in the way she teased me that let me know she was doing this on purpose.

An Okada Cab

She would also make comments that I don’t eat African foods like eba or amala, which was a lie. She seemed to enjoy putting me down or making me feel uncomfortable. It was almost as if it helped her deal with the stress of putting the funeral celebration together. What helped her truly ruined what could have been an amazing experience.

Roy

Roy was no better than Rita. He would call me constantly and try to organize my schedule from New York. It made no sense to me that a man who wants his son to see his family would stay in New York and try to make it happen through his ex-wife… especially one who he doesn’t get along with. Apparently I wasn’t the only one, as virtually every member of his side of the family kept asking me to talk to him, to convince him to come back to Nigeria and live. They had a point. Roy is retired. Roy has properties in Nigeria. Most of Roy’s calls are from friends and family in Nigeria. He’s not getting any younger. So what the hell’s the point f staying cooped up in a cold empty New York house when you have all of Nigeria waiting for you? A perfect example of this was when I was taken to see one of his properties in Magodo.

Magodo is one of the nicest areas in Lagos, a gated community with mansions and expensive cars. These are some of the houses in the area.

And this was Roy’s.

Why? It didn’t make sense. And, if he knows it looked like this, why would he want me to see it? I found that Roy is like the enigma of the family: no one really understands what he does or why, but he’s rich so he gets a pass from almost everyone. Almost.

Women (Demona and Tai)

I have a newfound respect for the beauty of a woman after the Nigeria trip. Nigerian women have the best bodies on Earth, and seeing them made those long dusty rides in cabs with Rita a little more bearable. I can’t count the amount of times I said to myself, “Look at the ass on that broad!” or “Look at the tits on that broad!” 75% of Nigerian women under the age of 35 are ridiculously hot. Even in the poor areas, the women would still look great. Sure, some of them didn’t have the best faces, but their bodies were sick.

Demona is the chambermaid for Rita’s house. She takes care of the place and runs all Rita’s errands. At one point, Rita came into my room and asked if I wanted to "talk" to Demona. I won't lie, okay? I wanted to say yeah. Her big tits were something to behold. But Demona made a dumb comment at breakfast when she said I looked like the kind of Nigerian that will marry a white girl. Something about the way she said it pissed me off, as if she was trying to insult me. I thought to myself, "Keep making jokes, honey. Lock me in a room with you for an hour and let's see who has the strength to crack wise afterwards." Besides, Rita already screwed things up by constantly belittling me around Demona. Imagine that: "Hey Demona, my son is a fucking idiot. By the way, wanna go out with him?" As the days progressed, Demona became more comfortable in showing her personality, and it was nothing I was attracted to. I don’t care how badly I want to have sex with a woman… the minute I lose respect for her is the minute she becomes unattractive. What a waste of a tight body.

Tai was a girl I met at the funeral celebration. She had the best body of any woman of the whole Nigeria trip, and she was flirting with me. She kept asking me to dance and we talked for a while. She gave me her number and I called her the following morning. Tai said she was in the middle of a make-up job (she's a beautician) and would call me later. It was around 5pm and I saw no one called on my Nigerian cell phone. I was furious, and my ego once again stoked the flames. My mind started racing, “Who the fuck is she compared to me? She thinks someone like me is gonna wait for a phone call from someone like her? From anyone? She got me fucked up. The nerve!” I got so mad I erased her number and all the information she gave me from my phone. She must have thought she had me sprung. Later in the night, I saw that she called at 8:52pm while I slept but I had already lost interest. I don't want to play that annoying game and I consider my time extremely valuable. Besides, it's tough to tell whether a woman is interested in me because of who I am or because I'm an American.

Tai and her amazing body

The Funeral Celebration

First there was the pre-celebration that took place on Friday December 27th. That was only a couple of hours where the women of my Grammy’s native town (Oru) got together and danced. After it was done, they would dance through the streets, holding up a picture of Grammy and Rita’s dad, who I never met.

One of my relatives with his super cute daughter

One of the five tents at the celebration. I would have been able to show this much better through video but... damned Blogger

One of three bands playing music simultaneously. Music definitely made it better.

The funeral celebration, which was the entire reason Rita gave to get me to Nigeria, seemed more like a merchant fest. Everyone was selling something but I loved the loud music. (I wanted to post videos but Blogger is being a pain in the ass.) Lots of wonderful Fuji music! Everyone keeps looking at me and one can easily tell that, despite my clothes, I wasn’t from there. The celebration put many things in perspective. This whole thing lasted about 4 hours, and it really pissed me off that Rita wanted me to take 10 days off to go to a celebration that lasted 4 fucking hours. No one even talked about my grandparents… they just ate and left. I learned nothing from this trip about my family and no one really cared to explain it, even when I asked. What a waste. For shame.

The Vultures

Gboris

Kato

These were the people that Rita surrounded herself with… the cheap help that drove her around and did her bidding. Gboris especially pissed me off on the second day when Rita went to give clothes to her friend at a church while I stayed in the taxi with the driver and Gboris. Gboris saw me closing my eyes and said, "Look at him. Sleeping in the afternoon. He must not do anything in America!" I was up since 3am so that Rita could make a failed attempt to get me a passport. He said it in Yoruba, but I was able to understand every word. I was so tempted to yell at him, but I knew I was a foreigner here and promised myself not to lose my temper. He also kept commenting on how nice my phone was, in a way that made me think he was gonna try to steal it.

Kato pissed me off throughout the trip when he would say nice things to me, only to talk shit behind my back. I really hate it when people do that, and would much prefer my enemies attack me to my face. Every time I wanted to eat African food they would ask me if I wanted a fork and spoon, which is an insult. One always eats most African foods (eba, amala, semolina, ogi and moi moi) with their hands. While at church the Sunday after the celebration, I couldn't help the angry thoughts that were in my head. For some reason, I would imagine dismembering Kato or eating his face every time I closed my eyes to pretend to pray. I really hated him and all the low life vultures Rita surrounds herself with.Why she likes to feel big around people like this I'll never understand. They reminded me so much of the scamming Smalltown handymen I used to associate with. I got hat same feeling whenever I was around them and that feeling is universal. An asshole is as an asshole does, no matter what country they're in.

African Heat

The heat in Nigeria was awesome, and definitely not as bad as I thought it would be. I sweated a lot, but the clothes I wore was very important to help combat the heat. Throughout the trip I couldn’t help but rub my skin obsessively. It was so silky smooth and I didn’t even need lotion! All these years I thought my skin was naturally ashy, and it turned out I was simply in the wrong environment! It may be a lot at times, but it would definitely be something I could get used to.

Traffic

Welcome to Lagos... stock photo

There is no such thing as a one way street to a Nigerian. The traffic was god-awful and many of the roads in Nigeria are under construction. That leaves a TON of holes on the ground that we had to drive very slow over, and the insane amount of dust and pollution that comes from it would lead one to believe there are no blue skies in Nigeria. Rita’s vultures mostly had vehicles with no air conditioning, so we had to roll the windows down and suffer through the dust. The funny thing was that, even through the chaos of the traffic, there seemed to be a sort of understood communication with the drivers. A honking of the horn could mean so many things, and I was impressed by the intricate system the citizens created without the help of traffic cops. Traffic cops get no respect because, even when they turn on their sirens, no one moves out of the way. In fact, some drivers would yell at the cops to shut the siren off. I loved that...

Babanitti

Babanitti

Babanitti is my uncle on my father’s side, and I stayed with him for a couple days. His name is based on the name Baba (father) and his firstborn (Nitti). Roy, for example, would be affectionately called Babarana since Rana is the firstborn. Babanitti was awesome and such a welcome departure from Rita. There was only one thing that made me initially uncomfortable.

One bed, two men

He and I were to share the same bed. Someone with my special history didn’t relish the thought of being in the same bed with an old man, but I figured it was one of those “when in Rome” things. But it turned out to be fine, as it was Babanitti’s way of letting me know that his house is my house. While with him and his son, we went to visit an old friend of Roy’s… Alaija Suleman. He is supposed to be like the head of all the brothers on my father’s side of the family. While there, everyone engaged in a two hour discussion about politics.

I sat there with a stupid grin on my face as they went on discussing issues with the local government, the power of the people's rights, and the danger of self appointed leaders. I... I sat there ashamed. Not just because I didn't understand most of what they were saying, but rather because they were speaking so passionately about politics when I didn't even know anything about the politics in America.

There they were, two old men and two young men having heated discussions about the political world around them. They understand, as I recently realized, that there's nothing worse than not knowing about the politics in one's country. Politics controls the world around me, so how can I not know anything about it? I used to pride myself about not knowing anything about politics. I used to say things like, "Politics is so stupid. Just a bunch of guys in suits lying through their teeth giving me a fucking headache." But even though that is true, it is ridiculously important that I understand what controls the world around me. Why my road doesn't get paved but others do? Why are my taxes going up but others are going down? After a while I stopped trying to understand what everyone was saying. I just stared at the outline of Suleman's crotch and wondered if he still had sex with his wives. Overall, spending time with Babanitti was great and I won’t soon forget his hospitality.

Culture

I loved the culture of bowing to elders and all the sayings. I loved the music and wish I got to see more historical sites and learn more about it all. I didn't like the Western influence on Nigerian music, as it made everything look copied and cheap.

 There seems to be a bit too much Western influence, which makes no sense since Africa has such a rich culture. Every music video has one or two stupid looking dudes wearing flashy clothes and sunglasses (at night) while a bunch of half-naked women dance around them. That's fine for African-Americans because there’s where it originated (or at least became popular). But I kinda hold Africa to a higher standard. Africa is the one with the culture, the millennia of history, and the birthplace for humanity itself. African-Americans should be copying off of Africans, not the other way around. I dunno, it just didn't look right to me. It really sucks when the originators of something usually never get to enjoy the fruits of whatever they create.

Final Impressions

I love Nigeria. Roy and Rita may have ruined the experience, but I was still able to get a feel of the culture there and I loved it. I could definitely see myself having a permanent residence there once I get this real estate game going. It really felt like where I belonged, you know? However, it all feels like a paradise lost because I know whatever I do there will be tainted by the petty bickering and the rehashing of age old beefs between Rita and Roy’s families. I seriously felt like I was back in Brooklyn on Ocean Avenue living with my mom and dad, in the middle of one of their childish fights.They’re all idiots, and I really lost a ton of respect for them during this trip. Through my dealings with Rita, I realized that I never created a good defense for teasing. If someone teased me when I was a kid, I always internalized it and waited until it was ready to explode. Nothing changed, and that can't be healthy. I'll have to work on that among other personality traits this year.

Returning to JFK was bittersweet, as I went from 92 degrees in Lagos to 27 degrees in NYC, to 0 degrees in Smalltown on a single day. My lips became chapped and my skin was getting ashy again. Ugh. Seeing the white and black and Asian people at the airports made me feel… weird. I can’t explain it… it just felt weird. If I can find a way, I’d like to go back there on my own esteem, maybe after I retire. I'd like to go once every year or every two years. I’d love to make non-family contacts, but it’s so difficult to make contacts one can trust in the “land of scammers”. All in all, it was a free trip to Nigeria and I got to pay respects to Leader, so I can't complain too much. I always said that after I set up shop in Smalltown, I would expand to someplace warm like Florida or Hawaii. Maybe Nigeria can go on that list? Maybe one day. Maybe one day.

P.S.: I had a few videos that I really wanted to post here but, after 3 hours of error messages, I think I'll just stick with the pictures. I seriously have to think about going with another blogsite.