Hey there. Remember me?
I’m as surprised as you.
Surprised it’s taken so long for me to get back to posting anything here. Save for that birthday post which I had to quickly drum up for my lovely sister, I’ve ignored this place for months.
Everything’s so dusty back here.
I blame work. And a little bit of laziness. Plus, after writing technical stuff all day, the last thing on my mind is churning out 600-800 words about my random thoughts. The only thing on my mind in the evenings are usually food and sleep.
But I couldn’t stay away forever. And here I am.
Technically, I’m not back though.
I’m here to present a series of guest posts from my friend Francoise.
I met Francoise through a funny set of events in 2015. She’s a French lady who’s married to a Yoruba man. And she’s lived with him in Nigeria since 1987.
Her story’s a long one which probably deserves a blogpost of its own. She’s been trying to get me to write her biography for months. I’m still thinking about it.
I’m letting her pour out some of her thoughts on my blog for a while. Let me (and her) know what you think.
Note: She’s a native French speaker, and still hasn’t gotten good with writing our language. And I have refused to edit her prose, partly because I want to preserve the authenticity of her voice, and partly cos I want to punish her (lol). I also had to BEG her before she sent me pictures I could use for this story. She’s the most camera shy person I’ve met so far.
Francoise, you’re up:
Here I am, building another bridge between the two continents, a new bridge between my two continents, between Europe and Africa, between the two cultures, between the two races….
I was born in one and I’ll like to die in the other.
As we put on the wall pictures of our family because we love them, or the cross of the Christ to remember His sacrifice, I had to tattoo the flag of my land on my shoulder to testify to myself that I am not denying the soil that made me ; but Lagos took me by the heart, that is a fact. Don’t ask me why because I don’t know: le coeur a ses raisons que la raison n’a pas…. what is sure is that it is a love story, a passionate story that I’ll like to share.
I just finished reading the last novel of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I like this young author. Right from the first page, you are immersed in the story and you like the characters. This pleasure with Americanah came from the depth of the prose and the similarities with my personal experiences in life. My own story’s title would have been Africanah.
As I was progressing in the story of this Nigerian girl living in today’s America, three essential points arose. And I could not resist comparing them with my own African life. So similar and so different at the same time… like similar opposites. The worries being the same yet opposite, like the reflection in a mirror.
Here is the story of a black girl in America and there is the picture of a White woman in Africa.
The first point of course is the colour of the skin. Like the Nigerian girl who discovered her blackness as soon as she arrived in the US, I have discovered my whiteness as soon as I arrived in Nigeria.
Yes, I know what you are thinking right now, but please say it again, because there is a lot to be said. This is the first very important point of our uprooted life and we shall come back to it again.
The second interesting point is the management of our hair. There are difficulties and I would like to take my time to express them.
The third point I would like to develop is the effect of our accent, and believe me it has its importance, you have to live it to realize that.
I’ll be going over these with you.
See you next week
Ibukun is my friend. Ibukun is a nice guy.
When I made my proposition; he said “ok, no problem, but at one condition: you don’t go on shit”. Then I said “Ok, no problem, I am a clean fly, I don’t go on shit… only on food.”
If you know me… you’ll recognize me,
If you like me… you’ll follow me,
If you want… you can write me.
See you around…
Ibukun’s Note: Francoise will post again next week. Please leave a comment and check back.