Displaced

Once again, I feel in between places. Neither here nor there, some days it seems. Think I've written this before, but I can't remember where or when. Going in circles, perhaps? [God,] I hope not. No, not quite. Because I have changed and I am a different person from the one who walked these streets. I look at the world around me with different eyes. My perspective hasn't quite shifted yet. The only word that comes to mind is 'displaced'.

At times I feel displaced, phased out, and ghost-like. I am seen and heard, yes, but still don't really feel like I am here. I feel as if I am shifting through different states, from a fairly pleasant dream-like state to moments of reality, and, at times, experiencing a sort of nightmarish existence. Well, perhaps not quite so bad as that, but it does bite us (and not in a fun, playful sort of way).

Earlier, I was writing to a friend that Nigeria is a land of contradictions, and that this has so much more meaning than 'Nigeria, the Heartbeat of a Continent' (the slogan from advertisements on CNN Intl.). Sure, it sounds 'nice', but what does it mean? Which is not to say that Canada doesn't have its contradictions. Comparing my country to other nations, the question comes to mind: how does a nation become so prosperous while others teeter on the brink? I think it is interesting and necessary to recognize how nations came to be the ways that they are. We ought to investigate and acknowledge how some have profited at the expense of others. We should learn more about how some colonies flourished post-independence and others floundered and the roles that racism, exploitation, and oppression have played in this process.

Do you want to understand how very twisted it is to be granted privileges primarily because of the colour of your skin? I never really understood what this meant and involved until I went to Nigeria. It is definitely a very disturbing, bizarre, and perplexing experience, but so invaluable. In so many cultures, and I've heard of (and seen, to an extent) people trying to lighten their skin or keep it lighter, darker skin is generally associated with people engaged in agricultural and other outdoor activities that are viewed by some (many?) as 'lower-class' (i.e. labourers struggling to make ends' meet). A friend of mine, who spent 2 years in Nepal, was telling me about 'skin lightening' creams and such. And then there are the 'whites', pouring on the bronze and laying in the sun to toast and darken their skin. A Nigerian friend of mine made a comment about that recently, how bizarre it was to come here and see people sunning themselves in the Summer. Whereas I appreciate the natural glow of sun kissed skin, I flinch inwardly when I observe bronzed creatures, the product of tanning technology, roaming the city streets.

So, being here is strange and awkward, but also beautiful. It is good to see old friends and know that while some things change, others remain. I've been fortunate enough to be welcomed back into people's lives with [surprised] smiles and open arms. It's good to know that we can still pick up at the same intimate level that we parted at. And there's so much to say! Although I some times find myself at a loss for words, being asked 'what was it like'? actually makes me reflect back, helping me to frame and come to terms with my experiences. Other times, however, I feel as if I am talking about another person, because it all seems so far away now. The distance is principally physical, but I also sense it mentally and emotionally. The cold cuts right through me, making me feel as thin as a sheet of paper. This in turn makes me yearn for the warmth of the sun on my skin, the intense heat of a place I'd come to consider home.

I don't think anything could have prepared me for the shock of going away and returning to Canada. I'd had friends go abroad and talked to them about how it feels to come back, but I never would have imagined I'd become so attached to and immersed in another landscape. I can't say culture (singular), because Nigeria is so diverse; however, there is, to a certain extent, a shared sense of existence. As different as Nigerians are from one another, both individually and collectively (i.e. differences between groups), they still share experiences, opinions, thoughts and feelings. Hausas may criticize Igbos, who may in turn make claims about their neighbours to the North and East; Christians may make comments about Muslims and vice versa; but they can all agree that their leaders are cheating them and that things are not right in their country.

For instance, most Nigerians experience problems with 2 fairly basic things (that North Americans take for granted): inconsistent and unreliable power (electricity) and lack of running water. Whereas it is possible to survive without power and running water, the lack of these things is often connected with poverty, to varying degrees. I had friends who were doing fairly well for themselves, but their place was small and, if the power went out, that was it until 'light' was restored by the Power Holding Company (PHC, formerly NEPA - National Electric Power Authority). The lights would go out and we'd exclaim and/or lament 'NEPA!', accompanied by sounds and mutters of discontent and disgust. I remember learning, at one point near the beginning of my time there, that NEPA also stood for 'Never Expect Power Always'. Rechargeable lights would be turned on, candles lit, and cooking would have to be done on a kerosene stove. Additionally, water, when available, was conserved in large buckets in the washroom and kitchen because there was no guarantee that it would be rushing tomorrow. Daily shared struggles to get by in this mixed up place. And the amazing part of it is how people cope, even when they have almost nothing. I marvelled at how people managed to make due, in spite of their circumstances. Not that this made it somehow acceptable, but that so many people go on with their lives, despite all the obstacles and hardships that they have to face, made me shake my head in wonder. 'Suffering and smiling', so the saying goes. I don't know how they do it.

So much more to say, as usual, but I feel myself fading. It's been becoming more and more difficult to type. I'm so tired ... I miss my beloved Nigeria. So it goes.

Goodnight, sweet prince.