Crafted beauty #9: It is unnatural

A lyrical examination of life away from home

Taken while cycling in Lagos- Feb 2021. One of the times I got to be home longer.

Sometimes, I think about how I have come to live, and I reflect on how unnatural it is.

My childhood memories are filled with the evidence of family— the neckties of my dad spinning on a rack; the perfumes of my mum that I doused myself in; the videogames and the football I played with my brothers; the television noise and the sounds of music from the CD player. I grew up with hands that wrapped around me, cupped my shoulder, pulled my ear, reminded me of love. I grew up with the laughter of aunties and uncles; with cousins that would reach for my toys and borrow my books; in a house that heaved during celebrations. And I left all of that to find prosperity on my own, halfway around the world. It is unnatural.

I have spent half my life in new places. I have had to explain the weather on short phone calls; mention only the most salient points the one time a week I might speak to family; create a new unit of safety around my friends. I have had to fold all the love I hold for my family into visits that happen once or twice a year. To brave a loneliness that can stretch over thousands of miles. It is unnatural.

There are the little ones who change so quickly. Who I don’t want to be forgotten by. Who remember me for the gifts I bring and the way I shrink myself into bright, childlike form when I see them. Whose memories I can only grasp at and mould one or two days each year. Who I capture in smiling photos meant to still time. It is unnatural.

Somehow, I forget to call. I don’t make time to check on them. I don’t know what their days look like; what makes their parents worry; what they stumble through at school. I only know the generous smiles they offer when they see me, and the rigid nicknames I force on their growing bodies. It. is. unnatural.  

And here I am. Dual citizen. Having worked in at least two countries. But only ever half at home on most days. It will always be unnatural.  

When I left the first time, my aunty urged me to never forget where I came from— to hold this truth firmly in my hand. But now I wonder— how could I ever forget somewhere that calls me so loudly, so convincingly, so naturally, to itself?

I wrote a poem about this feeling, right after boarding a flight from Lagos to London in July of 2022, with tears in my eyes. I called it “The Japa”:

Here I go again, leaving home, 
Walking away from those I love the most,
Resigning myself to mere snatches of time 
When I can hold them near, 
When I can live moments alongside them, 
When they needn’t be recounted in snippets, 
Inevitably lacking in some necessary detail. 

And when I’m with them, 
I’m aware of how finite, how precious it all is, 
Playing back the moments even as they occur. 

Sometimes I wonder if the trade-off is worth it, 
All these absences from all that matters. 
What do I search for in these foreign places, 
And why can’t I find them at home? 

“You should have been there”. 
“I know”, I say. “I know”.

There are so many people who want to leave, who dream of escaping the boundaries of their state, their country. Who want to experience life somewhere, anywhere else. Who would tell me how fortunate, how lucky, how blessed I am. And to them, I would say “I know, I know”. And still, and yet, I dream of ways to come closer, to come back.

I reflect on this subject a fair bit. In “Spotting Lagos”, I write about the other aspect of “detty december” — the feeling of coming back to a place that is half home and half not. You can read it here or watch a mixed media version I made here.

Prompt:

What may be unnatural about where you find yourself now? Write about it and share it with me (by sending it on instagram, or replying by email if you’re a subscriber). I would love to discuss it with you! I would also post it on the Instagram page if you’d like me to.