I didn't grow up in a big city. I was born and raised in Aba, Abia State. My village is Umuechokwu in Old Umuahia. I don't come from a rich home but my parents worked hard to send me to a private school. I grew up running around barefoot, sucking mango seeds dry and pretending there were fairies in the flowers I held.
My mother is Malaysian and my father is Nigerian. I am an Igbo Aba gal. The uglies of my past did not tint the beauty of my childhood, like the way the harmattan wind smelt during the 6am walks to school, the sour odor of the person next to you on the bus, the dipping movement of the dragon fly during the rainy season, my father's smile; straight teeth but slightly stained, the sweat my classmates and I shared when standing tightly packed together during the morning assembly.
We are all homesick. Everywhere we go, we get a whiff of home and we inhale. Sucking in the air, hoping it will take us back to that moment in time when we could touch aroma. I live in Albuquerque, New Mexico now. I haven't seen my father in six years and I miss Nigeria.
With a double major in Cultural Anthropology and Africana Studies, I have expanded on my passions, read on upwards my dears.