My home is a nice place: peaceful, serene. It overlooks the local mosque and in the distance a winner's chapel church looms impressively for all to see. Every morning of my secondary school life I awoke from the dreams of a calm mind to the rich beauty of the Muslims' morning prayers. In the evenings I marveled at the intricacies of speech used by the church goers to call down showers of blessings and cast away enemies of progress.

On some mornings I ventured out of my home to hunt for that tasty Nigerian delicacy, akara. The akara lady never disappointed on Saturdays, and the scent of her bean cakes drew out even the most gated neighbors to purchase the tasty treats. On such Saturdays my walk to the akara lady took me past mama Tope's road side shop. The usual E kaaro, mo fe ra bread e oo and some more murdering of the Yoruba language on my part and I would have Agege bread in my possession as I continued on my way to buy akara.

In the short walk to my final destination my mind was sometimes occupied with how it is that my Yoruba is better than my native language. But these thoughts never went far and I aways concluded them in the same way: that as a Nigerian in a predominantly Yoruba area I should take joy in the knowledge that the Yoruba language can also belong to me, that I can share in the history of these great people and them in mine.

I saw the cultural heritage of Nigeria's numerous and diverse peoples as individual jewels that make up a greater and more awe inspiring, more beautiful crown jewel. To me this crwon jewel was the embodiment of what it meant to be Nigerian; a stunning work of beauty that is most amazing when all it's individual peices are well appended and polished to gleam brightly. Complete only when all it's peices are complete; greater in beauty than any individual jewel yet dependent on those same jewels to attain its greatest beauty.

That is how I conceptualised what it meant to be Nigerian. With that mindset I could partake in the cultures of fellow Nigerians happily. I could enjoy edikaikong today, and tomorrow smack my tongues to the rich affair of Nsala soup. I could wear an Agbada one day, a kaftan the next and English wear later on. I could speak pidgin in the market, Yoruba with mama Tope and English at school. All these I could do as if like a king with the Nigerian crown jewel on his head; a jewl that I have always thought to be greater, yet dependent on each emerald that represents a culture somewhere in Nigeria. That is, a jewel whose richeness is found in the cultures that preceded it's smelting.

Therefore I am confused. I do not know what to make of the statement: I am Nigerian first; my tribe comes second. It's like hearing that I can have my crown of jewels before having the jewels for the crown. Yet I'm not sure I want such a crown, which sounds like a mere lacklustre skeletal frame of the real thing. One that does not even have the richness of the cultures that made my akara. Or that of the dynamic cultures that embraced the religions which fill my mornings with melodious songs. Or of the cultures whose native wears make me look so fresh. Haba! No, I do not such a crown. Instead I want that crown that does not oppress these cultures, or assert superiority over them. The crown that would make my own culture count wherever I am in Nigeria.


...I've tried to put down what I think and I'm hopping to hear from anyone who can help me better understand what it means to be Nigerian.

Till then

#proudlyNigerian

Eh yaa very nice story, though I didn't read it. However, I am Igbo first, then Nigeria second because "charity comots from home".

Seems like I wasted my time on this