Nigerian by birth

The Journey Home

Nneoma Okeke gazed out the plane window as the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean gave way to the rugged West African coastline. The thrill of returning to her homeland after years abroad coursed through her veins like adrenaline. She felt a mix of emotions: excitement, nervousness, and a hint of uncertainty.

Born and raised in Surulere, Lagos, she had left Nigeria at 17 to pursue her education in the United States. Now, at 25, she was returning to reconnect with her roots and rediscover herself. The decision had been sudden, sparked by a painful breakup and a stagnant writing career.

As the plane began its descent into Murtala Muhammed International Airport, Lagos, Nneoma's thoughts drifted to her childhood. Memories of playing in the dusty streets, selling oranges at the market with her siblings, and listening to her mother's stories of Nigerian folklore flooded her mind.

She recalled the vibrant colors of the markets, the rhythms of Afrobeats, and the smells of jollof rice and suya. Nneoma's heart swelled with nostalgia. She had missed Nigeria.

The plane touched down, and Nneoma collected her belongings. As she exited the aircraft, the humid Lagos air enveloped her like a warm hug. She smiled, feeling the familiar scent of tropical flowers and the sounds of Pidgin English drifting through the airport.

Nneoma navigated the crowded terminal, her carry-on luggage rolling behind her. She had planned this trip for months, but the suddenness of her decision still surprised her.

Her mother, Ada, had sensed her distress and invited her home. "Come back to your roots, Nneoma," Ada had said. "Find yourself again in the land of your ancestors." Nneoma couldn't resist the call.

As she reached the baggage claim, Nneoma's phone buzzed. Ada's voice echoed through the speaker.

"Nneoma, my daughter! Welcome home! I'm waiting outside."

Nneoma's heart swelled. "Mama, I'll be right out."

She collected her luggage and made her way through customs. The airport's chaos hit her like a wave: hawkers calling out, porters vying for attention, and the perpetual din of horns and engines.

Nneoma's senses were overwhelmed, but she reveled in the familiarity. She remembered navigating these same crowds as a child, holding her mother's hand.

As she stepped into the bright sunlight, Nneoma spotted Ada, resplendent in a vibrant Ankara print. They embraced, tears streaming down their faces.

"Welcome back, my child," Ada whispered, holding her tight. "You're home now."

Nneoma felt a sense of belonging wash over her. This was where she belonged – among the vibrant colors, sounds, and rhythms of Nigeria.

Ada held Nneoma at arm's length, examining her. "You've lost weight," she said, concern etched on her face.

Nneoma smiled. "I'll gain it back with your cooking, Mama."

Ada's eyes sparkled. "We'll start with jollof rice and plantains."

As they walked toward the car, Nneoma noticed the stranger from the airport again. He stood by the entrance, watching her with an enigmatic smile.

"Who's that?" Nneoma asked Ada, nodding toward the stranger.

Ada followed her gaze. "I don't know, dear. But you'll find your way in Lagos. This city has a way of surprising you."

Nneoma's thoughts lingered on the stranger as they drove through the bustling streets of Lagos. The city's energy was infectious, a potent mix of chaos and resilience.

As they navigated the traffic, Ada asked about Nneoma's writing. Nneoma hesitated, unsure how to share her struggles.

"Mama, I'm stuck," she admitted. "I don't know what story I want to tell anymore."

Ada's expression turned thoughtful. "Sometimes, you need to return to the beginning to find your way again."

Nneoma pondered her mother's words. Was this journey a return to her roots or a departure from her past?

The questions swirled in her mind as they approached their family home in Surulere.