MEMOIRS OF A NIGERIAN LIVING ABROAD (EPISODE 2)

After getting the necessary directions from the stewards at London Waterloo, I trudged into the train not unlike Noah’s animals entering the ark. I settled into a seat beside another black, another Nigerian coincidentally and it was then I noticed that Britain is an ‘earphone’ nation. Almost everyone had ear-phones plugged in, they wear it everywhere probably during copulation too. Oh I digress! The innards of the train was super! It looked just like a plane and it was very comfortable. The inside of the train looked far better than anything Nigerian Airways had in her heyday. After almost 3 hours on the train I sought refuge at as friend’s mum’s place at Dorset. You wouldn’t believe this; I actually ate hot Amala and watched AIT while I was there before retiring for the night.

The next morning, my friend’s mum advised me, prayed for me and urged me not to become irresponsible by getting tattoos and stuffs. Finally, she blessed me with the greatest gift ever, she gave me GARRI. In hindsight I regret not packing a lot when I was coming over from Nigeria, bringing then looked superfluous to me. That aside, I ventured out and the cold hit me smack from my face down to my genitals. My breath started to cloud, I felt like a character in those movies and I was like yeah! I have arrived. I hereby made a mental note to use Aboniki as my body cream every morning (I bought a dozen while I was coming). The train station proved another challenge, apart from the heavy baggage, paying was kind of hard too, the British currency has so many goddamn coins that it took me an eternity sorting out how much I was actually supposed to pay. This wasn’t helped by my poor mathematical skill which is appalling to say the least. Within an hour-and a half, I got to Bournemouth Train station where I hailed a cab. Even though the weather was freezing cold, I almost broke out in a sweat when I saw the way the cab meter was running, it was faster than Usain Bolt on steroids and I was flustered to say the least. I noticed how neat the roads were, there was a litter bin every few metres. I longed for Nigerian dirty roads where I could go to a corner and pee like a stray dog. Not in a chance in hell could I try it here. Their whole society is like Big Brother, there is always a camera watching you, so very creepy but it is still better than those nefarious brown-wearing LASTMA officials. I noticed that the driving was sane, in Nigeria we drive like raving lunatics; here civil driving is an understatement. In Nigeria, when the traffic light turns yellow, you rush to beat it but over here, they just chill and remain relaxed. Here, there are lights for pedestrians and there is a button you press when you are waiting. I compared this to Nigerians who run like rabid fowls on Ikorodu road despite pedestrian bridges. The buses here are driven by neat, responsible men who could pass for school principals. In Nigeria, the drivers are either half-stoned on marijuana or imbibed so much shepe that everything is a purple haze. As I alighted, crossing the road was hard, I kept looking at the wrong side (In Britain it is right hand drive so the roads are constructed as such). While trying to cross a car sped towards me, instead of shouting invectives at me like Were, Oloshi, the man actually smiled and let me pass. At first, I thought it was a peculiar case but I later found out everyone is like that over here. They are so patient that when I cross the road now, I swagger; at least they can’t hit me now? As I walked down to my hostel I noticed that the houses all looked neat with low fences and not the high ones we’ve got in Nigeria. With the fortresses we build back home, you would think there was an Ark of Covenant in each house. God, we even put barb-wires and bottles. How very barbaric!

After my road battles, I got to my room and believe me, I got ecstatic when I saw it. First, an elevator took me to my room and I actually use a card to open my freakin door! My room looked like a 5-star hotel and I was like ‘This is the Life’. An image of my Abule-Oja place of abode crossed my mind and I shuddered. My roommates were from different parts of the world-Turkey, Thailand, United States, Greece and they all welcomed me. It felt like the United Nations in here, so many nationalities. I had my wireless internet connection and believe me when I say browsing here is the ‘ish, so fast that it goes before you even click. Browsers in Nigeria, I hail thee.

Getting to school was another experience; I had to hurry because I had missed 2 weeks of lectures. I hurried through registration, snapped a horrid picture for my ID card which looks like a mug shot and bounded over to class. As I walked into class, a lecture was already 30mins in progress. Everyone looked back and I was like ‘WTF’. Expecting far worse, I was heartily greeted. Apparently they had all been expecting me and believe me they have been helpful in helping me settle. The class was a thoroughly intellectual one, so very much that I started developing a migraine. What the hell did I learn in Africa? I put the thought out of my head and vowed to catch up...

MEMOIRS OF A NIGERIAN LIVING ABROAD (EPISODE 1)

While I was schooling in Nigeria, there was this rogue publication called The Watchdog, an evil write-up that seemed to get into every one’s business and mock them like hell. I was the first victim of this insidious publication but despite all these, I was continuously linked as being the man behind it all by friends like Demola, Osho, Ayomide Tayo and other classmates.

Less I digress; this is about me, about my new life experiences in the Land of the Queen (a damn expensive place where everything is taxed). Leaving Naija was kinda hurried, got my visa on a Friday and travelled on Sunday, so everything at that point was like I was on a fast-forward button. Leaving my friends was very hard, harder than I imagined, a whole me actually shed tears, as in REAL TEARS! The worst was at the airport when I was saying goodbye to Ma Nizzle, it started with a whimper and almost turned into a wail. Also had to say goodbye to my friends, my dad and last of all Miss Nizzle. At that point, I thought I would break down and had to hurriedly walk away before security guards at MM Airport arrest me for bring a crying nuisance.

The flight with Arik (a very cool airline) lasted like 7 hours, in-flight I kept eating like a rabid monkey and touching the on flight entertainment system. Damn! I was like a kid in a candy store. I had to stop though when I noticed some stares plus the fact that i didn’t want to press that button that would/might crash the plane. On the plane, i reminisced about everything I was leaving behind; from my job, St Bottles Celebrations every Friday, my family, Miss Nizzle, Gidi... For the first time in my life, I was going to be alone, truly alone...

After landing and waiting for a while for my two heavy luggages (loaded with stock fish, garri and other African paraphernalia) which took some time to come, I confidently swaggered to the front of Heathrow. The first blast of cold weather almost had me running to Nigeria. As in, it was freaking cold! I had heard that it was cold and actually bought jackets but ii wasn’t prepared for that kind of cold. Worse still, I was told that it was still warm, that the actual cold had not even started s till dreading when that time comes. At the terminal, I saw a lot of black dudes, hustlers, all speaking Yoruba who were cab drivers. I looked around and picked the oldest and seemingly responsible one who agreed to take me to Waterloo station for 20 pounds. I walked towards his cab and wanted to get into the passenger side only to find out that was the driver side, Silly me! The driver sensing this smiled and after seeing me shivering with teeth clattering like a drenched puppy, he switched his heater on. He was a Nigerian who had resided in England for around 6 years. Looking at him and with no disrespect, he was at the bottom of the British class system but with the tale he told me, he was a big boy in Ibadan, Nigeria with a lot of houses. We stopped at a fuel station which had no fuel attendants. He paid and sold fuel himself. I asked if he could just sell without paying and he said yes but that CCTV was monitoring and he would be apprehended. In my mind, I was like ‘Yeah Right’ Imagine that system in Naija? He was friendly right until the point when he wanted his money; his parting shot was that ‘In London, we don’t play with money’

With my heavy bags, I trudged along to the station. Citizens of London all looked at me and pitied me, really I was a pathetic sight, carrying such load and shivering + looking extremely lost. I stood straight, I was here for a purpose and i was going to achieve it, BELIEVE THAT! I bought my train ticket and headed towards Bournemouth...