Finding Home: From Lagos to Warri

Where is home?

In 2017, I packed my bags and escaped to the Golden city. The real and original center of Nigeria.

I fell in love as soon as I stepped foot in Lagos, the city that never sleeps.

I thought I had found the place where I belonged. The energetic vibe resonated with me in a way no other place had.

Night walks around Abule Oja meant selecting which junk food to devour. I was always spoilt for choice.

The commute on Third Mainland Bridge to and from the Island gave me a dopamine rush and a sense of euphoria that was satisfying. Except from the days where traffic held me hostage.

You will always hear music in Lagos. The sound never stops. From the bus conductor’s Fuji, to the soothing Blues played at every supermarkets, to Afrobeats booming from speakers.

The chaotic symphony of it all, is beautiful.

In Lagos, the only thing better than visiting the beach and going for parties, are the beach parties- South Socials beach parties in particular.

However…

Lagos’ cacophony is a feature not a bug. It’s not Nirvana where you always get what you want.

The city of dreams and opportunities is also a city of harsh realities and challenges.

She taught me this lesson again and again, every time I made the mistake of calling her home.

I encountered a lot of disappointment and pain in Lagos.

Friends who I thought were genuine turned out to be fake, and lovers who I trusted broke my heart.

Workplace abuse and politics didn’t care that I was just a teenager trying to make something out of life.

I encountered crazy people.

The potbellied, uneducated fraudulent thief of a landlord who tagged me “Omo Igbo” and found ways to make my stay in his apartment a living hell.

The aged senile caretaker that never failed to flash his saggy, squeezed up, never-to-stand-again penis at me.

Mischievous neighbors who offered favours and expected, sometimes demanded I pull off my clothes, and spread my legs naked on their bed in return.

I can go on, but now is not the time.

The stress and difficulties of living in this crowded, unkind smelly city took its toll on me, leaving age lines more prominent and reducing my lifespan by at least three years.

Earlier this month, I packed my bags and left Lagos for Warri, the place I had never really bonded with. The place I refused to call home.

Life is laughing at me because never did I expect to find everything that my soul has been searching for in Warri.

The sense of belonging that I had been missing all along. The warmth, the love, the peace.

I wish I didn’t rush off to the golden city. That instead, I took the time to explore this vast wetland blessed with oil.

But you should know me, I’m not one to be stuck in a loop of regret.

I am here now.

I can skate on the paved roads.

Eat sizzling Banga rice and Owho soup.

Visit the water ports, and while throwing stones, accidentally sight Naija Delta Militants on their ship commute.

There are so many adventures that I’m yet to embark on.

Looking back on my journey, I realize that I needed to leave Warri to appreciate it. I had to experience Lagos, with its bites and burns, to understand what home meant to me.

Now, I know that home is not just a physical place, but a feeling of safety, comfort and security that comes from being around people who love and accept you for who you are.

And that is exactly what I have found in Warri.

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