Living alone diaries #6; Lagos, Eid and a peek into the dynamics of a Yoruba family.
I’m behind on writing, again. Are we surprised?
Most probably not, hm.
After I posted on Tuesday (sorry), my week has just been…I don’t even know how to describe it.
Its definitely had its ups and downs, that’s for sure.
Anyways, I’m currently in a plane bound for Lagos as I type this, and you already know, I’m not looking forward to this trip at all.
I’ve felt this sense of foreboding for a couple of days now and I haven’t been able to shake it off.
I’m sure you’re thinking “Really, Ahmad, it’s not that deep”,
But it is for me.
Generally, I’m not a person that really enjoys being around a lot of people, whether they’re family or not, I’m also not the kind of person that likes to pretend or put on a show for people, hell, I barely even post most parts of my life on any of my social media because I just never feel like. I really struck a landmine with my huge, hyper-religious, Yoruba family, where I have to do all (and more) of the aforementioned; be around and perform for lots of people, basically throw away my personality for “respect”, family and appearances. It now doesn’t help that my father is somewhat “popular” in specific circles, so there’s this prevalent feeling of being watched when we go to certain places.
Its exhausting. I’m tired just from writing this.
The most annoying part for me is the constant performance; we have to present this false narrative of a united, perfect, rich family with no problems or issues, when we are inherently dysfunctional and are being forced to do almost everything we do for the sake of eyes looking in.
It fucking pisses me off. We’re not perfect, no one is, so why should we be giving a fuck what people think about who we are or what we do or how we do it or what we wear or how we talk?
I know this hyperconsciousness of external opinion is very prevalent among Yoruba people, and if you’re Yoruba you most likely know what I mean.
Then with my father’s recent “acquisition” of another wife and consequentially, a new child, my already corrosive relationship with the man himself, and the anxiety I have just being in Lagos, everything is just…much.
That’s just the word, I feel like everything is much.
Because now my mother, my step siblings (my mother is the second wife, so I’m referring to the first wife’s children here. She’s late, bless her soul.), the new wife, her child, and my own blood siblings have to figure out a new dynamic around each other and I already know it’s not going to be roses and sunshine.
I just really dislike disingenuous situations/people/things.
And I hate performing.
They’re calling for all devices to be switched off so I have to go now.
Guess who’s in Lagos?
Yes, it’s me, don’t think too much.
The plane ride was smooth and short, so that’s alright.
Nigeria is actually a finished country, for real, because tell me why there wasn’t one single refreshment offered during the flight? Has it really come to this?
Oluwa saanu.
Random, but is it just me that has these really horrible intrusive thoughts at the worst times? As we were just about to touch down at Muhammad Murtala Airport, I just thought “Wow, what if we just crashed onto the ground now?”
Obviously, that didn’t happen (you’re seeing this post right now), but it was such a disastrous thought. What if it did happen? In the multiverse it probably did.
Lagos is exceptionally rainy and cold, the last time I was here when it was this rainy was probably when I was at the University of Lagos, in 2018. I lived with my uncle in Bariga, and when it rained the streets were flooded.
Also, as usual, the traffic is just so beautiful. Miles of frustrated Lagosians just chilling. I have now joined them.
This city is such a kaleidoscope of experiences, the best way to describe it is “moving”.
I’m listening to Tame Impala’s “Borderline”. (Amazing song)
We are currently passing Ikorodu road and this woman and her child are shin deep in water. On a major road. Omo.
Make I kuku off cloth, no be swimming pool be dat?
I’m just happy that Eid is tomorrow, so that will be done and over with, also happy that I didn’t have to participate in any stressful preparations for that.
Just tomorrow alone will be stressful enough.
Is it just me or did all these “celebrations” fall off? Like when I was a child, I was ecstatic when Eid came round, I looked forward to it so much I would count down the days till we left for the airport.
Now, I just can’t wait for it to be over with. I don’t really believe in what is being ‘celebrated” and even my brother (who does) told me it doesn’t even feel like a celebration of anything, with all the work that goes into it. By the time you’re done with just preparations, you just want to sleep.
Just work and fake smiles and lots of perfume.
I’m going to read and stare out the window for a bit now.
I can tell this entry is going to be longer than usual.
Crazy stuff, hm?
It’s the day after Eid now; Sunday night.
God, I want to be submerged in boiling pitch and scrubbed from head to toe with iron sponges.
That is definitely an exaggeration.
But seriously, I’m so sick of the smell of meat I want to plug my nose up.
Eid day itself was surprisingly not very stressful, and for the first time on Eid in years I was able to take a nap in the afternoon. Crazy stuff. Anyways that’s because my father had the ingenious idea of killing one ram and cooking the day before (Friday) so we were actually able to enjoy the day, instead of slaving away. Then the day after Eid (today) another ram and a cow were killed and more food was cooked.
I’m so not hungry it’s crazy.
On top of that the elders decided it was time to revive the tradition of family meetings, to “preserve our heritage” which I guess does make sense, but I don’t care enough about the family in question to be interested in it at all.
I have to add that the killing and cooking of the animals (sorry vegans) and food was outsourced — obviously — imagine if we, the kids, tried to butcher three rams and a cow.
Disaster.
But somehow, regardless of the outsourcing, a million and one jobs just find a way to come up, its insane; take this inside, go and get this, help us cut this, this knife isn’t sharp, can you get us nylons…and on and on, its crazy. Not to mention how full the house seems to feel, relatives I never see and their million and one kids (not that I can blame them, my father has eight children) running around the house and I’m just like damn.
I’m just glad that this is the last day of all this crap, I’m honestly so tired and I ache all over.
Celebration my ass.
I’ve been in a foul mood since I got here on Friday anyways. I’m always thinking about this one tweet that said “home will have everything you want except for peace” and the tweet is so real.
Tried to take a small nap today, I couldn’t even relax because I felt so on edge; soon father would call or tell us to come out and help or just do something. I literally just dozed for an hour straight.
Also not feeling great because I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to see any of my friends while I’m in lag; where the family house is is so far from town its crazy. Getting into town is almost a two-hour journey.
My village is literally on the seaside; from our balcony you can see the twinkling stretch of land that is Lagos Island.
My return flight is on Friday, and its Monday tomorrow, I hope I’m able to have a day or two to myself so I can go out.
Okay I’m going to take that shower now.
I think I’ll write some more tomorrow before I post finally.
Its now Monday.
Again, its crazy how when you’re home odd jobs just come up and you have to do them.
This morning I didn’t get up from bed till 9am, and it was actually my brother that had to come wake me up.
After which I went back to bed.
Yesterday my father hosted the family meeting, and naturally, where there’s groups of people and food, there will be messes. So, I just got done cleaning those up.
Anyways, I think I’m going to stop here for now, its almost six pm now.
Expect another entry next week, I’d be in Abuja by then.
Fingers crossed I get to see my friends this week.
This is so all over the place, damn.
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