Nigeria is like a lady you love but can't stand for too long. She's beautiful when she has money, but a hideous mess when she doesn't. She hates herself. She cares about nothing but her children who have "made it in life". But she's our mother and she birthed us.
If I could send her a letter, this is what I would say;
Hey mama, you looked good from the angle I saw you tonight.
I saw these lights on a high rise building and I knew that was you. Your beauty so pronounced in the glow of those bulbs. I knew it just had to be you in full display, especially when I came closer and heard those sounds reminding me that those lights were a product of the crude you have within your bowels transformed into renewable energy.
Mama, you gave me everything I have right now. My skin a combination of the beauty from your colonial masters and a plethora of your gracious melanin outburst. It pleases me. I love the skin you gave to me. And my hair. It grows like the forests that gladly and confidently sprout like the rose bursting through a rock.
Hey mama, you gave me EVERYONE I love right now and everyone I hate. Everyone I'm yet to meet and everyone I regret. You gave me these freely. Through my search on your streets of education and development. Through my journey within your tunnels of love and loss. You gave me all mama and more.
I hate you, mama.
You are so beautiful, yet so ill-tempered and naive. You lack true knowledge of your beauty and power. You let the wrong men get to you. Penetrating deep into the depths of your soul and taking away all your glory mama. You were meant to be so much better than that.
You let your children be better without you. You make them crave to be in the bossom of a strange mother. Your arms stretch but they never stretch wide enough to hold us all. You seek only those high enough to kiss your cheeks mama. You let us down and we remain down.
You have been good to me. But I expected more from you. You have what it takes mama. I believe in you. But I want to praise you and lift you higher than you could ever imagine while I suckle on the sweet milk of another mother not as pretty as you.
You gave me my hair, but you failed to make me your heir.
You failed me, mama. And I failed you too. As I leave you and seek to never to return to you.
I love you for all you have given to me. But I hate you for the lives you let me lose.
Nigeria is blessed with numerous curses that run deep into the stream of our blood. It flows through every strand of our hair. We only work and believe that the curse bestowed on us, helps us flourish in a different country.
If you would like me to write something similar for your blog.
