I sighted him first, walking hesitantly towards us. His hands each gripped a bag. My mother sighted him next and ran to him, throwing her hands around his huge body.
'Kasie kedu' he said to me. His voice was deeper.
'Am fine' I said.
I didn't know if I was expected to hug him or not. So I didn't hug him. I only replied 'Fine' in a placid and unfeeling voice, because I also didn't know what I was expected to feel, sad or happy, elated or depressed. So I went with unfeeling and placid.
His hair were in thick locks. He had grown bigger and lighter. I couldn't stop staring at him, at his flat nose, his sharp arched eyebrow, his yellowish colored eyes, his pouted lips that looked as though they were disapproving something. I watched him as the car moved his head from side to side because of the road bumps. I followed his gaze, he was staring at the muddy road, the screaming hawkers, the loud 'agbero' conductors, the decrepit Lagos buses that was a sign that one was in Lagos. His thoughts were written over his face. It was disdain, disappointment, disgust or maybe it was my thoughts. I felt like explaining things to him and telling him that coming to Nigeria wasn't all that bad. I wanted to tell him that Nigeria was a country filled with hopes but I didn't because I wasn't sure enough.
The traffic was heavy, people were already coming out of their cars to stretch their legs. Hawkers used the opportunity to pester people to buy their goods.
Fifteen persons had already been to the car window to ask us to buy their goods because the windows were down. I had an urge to take the window glass up, but that would be signing my death warrant since the sun was scorching and the car had no air conditioner.
I was sitting at the back of the car. My mother was driving the car and Brother Jidechukwu was sitting in the passengers seat. The silence was awkward.
After spending four years in America. He was back in Nigeria. The 'Nigeria' he ran away from. The 'Nigeria' he cursed. The 'Nigeria' he saw nothing good in. I thought of those days when he used to pray 20 decades of the rosary everyday, go to morning mass, clean the church pews on saturdays. Hoping that God would look down with pity on him and give him American Visa...no no...It was Canada first then Germany then America then Germany again. I remembered all the long talks he had with my mother, strategising on how he would live 'the Nigeria' that would never be good enough for him, 'the Nigeria' were people do not wait in queues, 'the Nigeria where you spend Six years getting just one degree, 'the Nigeria' where you pay light bills and never get to see any, 'the Nigeria where you spend 3hours on a journey of 30 minutes because of the bad roads, 'the Nigeria where the politicians steal public funds, 'the Nigeria where people die like chicken, youths are frustrated into becoming prostitutes and armed robbers, retired public servants never get their pension, corruption prevails, justice is jettisoned and life is hard.
I wanted to ask 'Was it easier? Was it easier perching in Germany because you sure as hell weren't living there? I wanted to ask him if he felt fulfilled while he was there or was he disappointed that the Germans ate boring food like us, that they were just like us except that they had constant light and good roads, except that he was black and they were white. I wanted to ask him if life there was easy, if hiding like a fugitive was easy. I wanted to ask him if he missed home, if he ever regretted leaving Nigeria to a place where he had to dodge. I wanted to ask him if he didn't feel better now, inside this car, in his own country. If he didn't feel good, that right now he could move with ease and confidence and have no one look at him as different, as black.
I wanted to tell Brother Jidechukwu that in Nigeria you don't have to dodge, you don't have to take stealthily steps and wish you were invisible. I wanted to tell him that he didn't need papers and he didn't have to marry a fat white woman who would turn him into a house help to get papers; papers that would make him work a little less stealthily and feel a little more confidence than a tenant - with a crazy landlord - whose rent is expired.
I felt his shame; the shame he felt as they put a handcuff in his hands. Once again, I wanted to ask him if he was manhandled. If they walked him or pushed him into the cell. If he was fed well, if he had to piss and shit in a container (like they do in Nigerian prisons). I tried to imagine the expression on his face as the police walked him to the airport, into the plane. Did he feel terrible that he was being deported or did he feel relieve that at last he didn't have to dodge?
I wish I was there to capture his first moments on the Nigeria soil. Did he take the first fresh bout of air with eagerness or was he hesitant. Was he hopeful that he could start a better life in Nigeria or was he thinking of ways to run away from Nigeria?
Has he learnt his lesson? Has he learnt that Nigeria might not be the best country, but that Nigeria is his country.
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