If anybody knows me- and wishes to know more- such person will agree that I am always at odds with a character consistency that could spell me in Black and White.
I am bubbly, talkative and aloof today; I am quiet, calculative and humble tomorrow.
I love classy things at one time and I'm pulled to the totems that lie stripped of all glamour, the next minute.
But in all, I am down to earth- whatsoever that means.
I am a Nigerian...
and if any earthling exists, that has never heard of my beloved country or met my beloved people; if such person(s) could see me walk, hear me talk or feel me swag- about, he would instantly be informed in the ways and customs of being Nigerian.
I love to travel a lot too- for we, as Nigerians have been stricken with a perpetual itch, so as not to be caught sitting in one place for too long. Infact, our country together with us are loaded into one psychological ship that is sailing down, southerly towards the tumultuous seas of Dementia.
I do not take it kindly with anyone that calls us "mad", no matter how true it might be, that we are actually "very mad".
Now, here is a story...
By this same time last year, the "traveling- itch" had plagued me so strongly that I was pedaling hard in a BMW 3 Series, 2008 Model from Uyo- in the cool of morning, to Ijebu-Jesha- in the pitch of night.
My purpose: I was going to Holiday with a bosom friend who hails from Ijebu in Osun but lives with me in Uyo, Akwa Ibom State. It was in the eve of Sallah and I had already been told he came from a very devout Moslem family.
As a travel- addicted Nigerian, I couldn't let my guards down. Infact suspicion was up and prowling, round and about me.
Alas, I was very disappointed and ashamed for putting up such a discernible front of cautiousness after I was duly introduced to his big family.
There in Ijebu, true as it were that my friend was from a core Moslem family; I was received and treated so warmly that I became a member of the family without even knowing.
We ate and drank together. I even slept in the same bed with one of his many brothers.
Whenever Alhaja- his aged mother- came to wake us up in the morning; I will be allowed to pray to my Christian God and the Jesus- which I didn't know, but was taught by my parents to pray to- while the other members of the family went out to perform their ablutions and observe a holy Juma't to Allah.
They were a peaceful and lovable family. We visited and bathed at the high waterfalls in Erin-jesha together, drank up-wine from calabashs and laughed at the fallout of culture that accompanied each other's wake, more especially mine which came from a different cultural strata from theirs.
Three weeks had passed by. Their hospitality and warmth had made me loose the count of time. By the time we packed up again and I zoomed off towards Uyo, I had established a great confederate of Muslim friends who could call me at anytime of the day, confide in me and gist over the phone till date.
I had also learnt one other thing; that some Nigerians are not really like Nigerians. Most Nigerians cannot be defined by the religious fanaticism and aparthy that has become a quack- mire stricking our collective sensibilities and shapening us into a cannibalistic bunch of religious fools.
The Ijebu- Moslem family I spent my holiday with were not Nigerian like that. They knew what religious and cultural tolerance meant without being preached to. They accepted me, understanding that their own brother felt comfortable with me accompanying him. They knew that their brother lived in my own parts and that I owed him same hospitality.
These are the kinds of Nigerians that cannot be told by stereotypical stories or whose characters cannot not be defined by collective religious or cultural idiosyncrasies. They know that we are all the same beneath the cloak of tribe and other persuasions. They know that when our coloured skins and cultured mind's fall apart, that what is left of us is an indistinguishable toll of white bones that tell neither tribe nor religion.
These are a different breed of Nigerians. They cannot be spotted for being Yoruba or Moslem. To them, Allah was a prophet who sent love to humanity in the form of Godly worship. They know that other prophets- like the Christ I was indoctrinated to pray to- existed and had equal followers and demanded equal worship. They know that the pride of being Nigerian exceeds the lure to be fanatical.
This Ijebu family spoke Yoruba and taught me few of it. But they also spoke the universal language that was understood across all tribes and tongues: the language of Love, Brotherliness and Service to Humanity.
These are the kinds of Nigerians we do not easily come by in the Maiduguri, Kano and Zamfara areas of the North today; the ones that we really need but who are paradoxically very scarce to meet.
These are the Nigerians I'll commute a thousand Kilometers across numerous seas to be with.
These ones make the Nigeria of my dreams.
©Poet Anny Razon-Justin,
August, 2016
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