I looked out of the car’s window as a small crowd rushed out of my sister’s house to meet us. My son and I alighted from the car, as screams of excitement pierced through the night. My brother, his wife, my nieces, and nephews rushed towards us, and we met in a collective embrace.
I had spent many hours imagining this moment. This pregnant moment – seeded through years of anticipation, had finally germinated into a harvest of pure joy.
Our laughter was buoyant, despite the thickness of the air, and for a minute we stopped and stared at each other in total disbelief!
The reality of the moment had hit us – this was the very first time, in almost 3 decades, that we were in the same place at the same moment.
We had a lot of catching up to do, but the kids around us were also calling for some attention!
My youngest nephew was staring at me – he seemed quite shocked to see me, so I turned towards him to engage him in a discussion. My son and my brother were loudly exchanging on pixels, facial proportionality differences and in-person physical differences – versus video images. I thought about how as a baby, my son would babble to my brother over the telephone and how my brother would laugh, and as he grew older their exchanges evolved, along with advancement in telephony, to intense and more complex discussions about technology over video.
I looked up and saw my mother, she stood back calmly observing us all. She had made the trip to Nigeria a few days ahead of me, so I was keen to hear her impressions –as her lenses had been shaped by very different experiences.
She was born during the colonial era, a period (from the mid-nineteenth century until 1960) when Nigeria was ruled by the United Kingdom. My mother had told me stories of her grandmother and her mother’s experiences – heavily shaped by the colonial era. And during the 1950s, my mother had spent her high school years at a European run convent school in Lagos.
She would often recount colourful stories of her teachers and Principal, all European reverend sisters. The stories of the catechisms memorized, the whippings endured for missed masses and the European folk songs that she was taught remained very vivid in her mind.
I still recall, as a child, my mother singing European folk songs and teaching me “Strawberry Fair” and “Westering Home” with all the enunciations and body movements – just as she had been taught in her convent high school. At the time, they were melodious sounds emanating from my dearest mother – I only recently began to fully understand the lyrics and the roots behind these songs.
My mother walked towards us all with a smile, and in her usual gentle mannerism, she beckoned towards us indicating that a hearty meal was awaiting – she didn’t want it getting cold.
And in keeping with her beckoning, we all walked hurriedly into the house…