My parents are from a minor tribe called Benin, in Edo
State, Nigeria, I was raised in Lagos and only have two memories of being
whisked away to the land of my mother and father. Aged six, I was taken to
Benin City with the whole family for my paternal grandfather's burial. I was
struck with malaria and spent most of this experience in bed, in the hotel. I
was allowed to go to the party afterwards but I spent the entire time sleeping.
Aged 12, my dad became a Special Adviser to the governor of Edo State and so
off we went again, to Benin City for the swearing-in. Alas, being the moody
pre-teen that I was, I had absolutely no interest in being there. It was a long
trip, I was cranky, I was probably missing a party back in Lagos, I was
definitely missing out on something better than that! So I stayed indoors, went
out only for the event and back in I went. TV stayed on, seeing as the internet
was more of a luxury back then, I stayed glued to the TV, and when I could tear away from it I was dodging bombs on my game boy. Not once did I become overwhelmed with curiousity about
this place that my parents and their parents were born, and lived for some
time.
.JPG) |
| Interior at Bogobiri. Lagos, Nigeria |
I
think about it now, when I get asked questions such as, "Oh! Wow! You're
Nigerian? You speak such good English, when did you learn to speak it?" And
then with so much offence taken (seriously though, I will never not be offended by this), I
retort, "well, a strong case can be been made for around 1991/1992 when I
started talking." But then the possible follow-up question to that could
be "do you speak any Nigerian languages then?" And then with
shoulders down, head bowed slightly and a lower voice I reply, "no."
There it ends. It's worse when my friends ask me about Lagos, Edo and Nigeria, genuinely interested in learning more about where their friend is from and I can't give them more than tales of holidays spent away, getting into trouble at school, playing tennis on weekends, etc. The older I get, the more I am bothered by this. There was once
a time when eyes would dramatically roll at "iye", my grandmother, as
she nags about my brother and I being so unable to speak our language - or our
other 'mother tongue', Yoruba. She would get so upset when she says “Wo ye
hie?” And we reply, “O yo se”, then she tries to carry on the conversation and
we respond with blank stares and stammers. I can almost see her heart breaking
a bit whenever this happens. What’s really sad about it is that now she just
speaks English to us, she has accepted defeat.
 |
| Queen Mother Pendant Mask: Iyoba, 16th century Nigeria; Edo peoples, court of Benin |
Back in Primary school, Yoruba and Igbo, two of the three major
tribes in Nigeria (Hausa being the third), were compulsory subjects. We had to
choose one of the two as part of our syllabus. Being neither Igbo nor Yoruba,
but being a child of Lagos, my parents advised my teacher to add me to the
Yoruba class. Back then, I loved being in the Yoruba class because we got to
dress up in traditional outfits at Christmas, and for some talent shows, and sing and
act in Yoruba. It was so much fun. However, I was a crammer. I never actually
learned anything, I just crammed the words, not knowing what they meant – I could’ve
been rapping the lyrics to a Tupac song, in Yoruba for all I knew. I still know some of
these songs and still have as little an idea now about the meaning behind them,
as I did then. I had no desire to learn Yoruba, it was confusing, there were
too many meanings linked to one word, it was stressful and I wanted nothing to
do with it. Each time, I just about scraped the pass mark and I still can’t
tell you how I managed to do that. The multiple choice part of the tests and
exams were probably my saving grace as I just shaded at random. There was a lot
of “Hmmm! I haven’t picked C in a while...”
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| Yoruba attire at a traditional concert in the early 90s, Lagos, Nigeria. (I will not address the pose or the 'stoner' looks these two are sporting). |
I think the reason it bothers me so much now, is that I refused to see just how rich these cultures are. There is so much life, vibrancy and
history to learn and it is an exciting prospect. I have fallen in love with Nigerian art and it just amazes me how ignorant I was. My dad would always try to teach me about the richness of Bini art but my mind was always focused on something else. When my non-Nigerian friends
ask me about my culture, I am as lost as they are. I make some stuff up and try
desperately to remember what it was my dad had said, that one time, about that
one painting in our living room. Or when in a job interview, the employer ended
up schooling me on Nigeria and her
history. That was a low point. I wouldn’t change anything about the way I was brought up, Lagos is a very modern place, it's embraced a primarily contemporary and some might say, Westernised way of living. I would however, have been a little more keen to
visit my parents’ villages, visit my granddad when he was alive, speak to my
grandmother in her language and confidently tell people about my heritage.
I’m reading more about the history of Nigeria, of
Yorubaland, of the Igbos and the people of Bini. I am learning so much about it
now that I am in awe of the beauty that I ignored, the tales that I shunned and the languages that I avoided, so rich in
animation, life and character. I didn’t lose my mother tongue, I didn’t lose my
passion for my motherland, I just never had it. I’m changing that now though,
because I look at my friends from Brazil, Spain, Germany and even Wales, they
know about their culture, they are fluent in their languages and they are proud
of where they come from. Despite Nigeria’s reputation, the current situation
that she is facing, there is still beauty and affluence in history and culture
to share.
