notwithstanding the depression those women in the cabu cabu put me through, I had little excitement in me. We passed lots of uniform men, most of which were iron-fisted and always asked who owned all the Ghana must go in the boot which belonged to me. At some point, immigration stopped us. The officer said I looked Chinese. I showed him my passport. He said the only way he would believe was if I sang the national Anthem. That was how I journeyed down primary school lane with my hands by my side like a frozen chicken. I understood they were only jealous I was going abroad. As we plied along, I checked my phone to have that ecstatic moment of my life when my Nigerian mtn service will be out of coverage. Soon I slept off and was woken by earsplitting noise. I asked the cabu driver where we were, he said border. I wouldn’t have believed if those market women didn’t alight. My God! I thought borders were supposed to look like airports or something. Tears gathered my eyes as I pulled out my loads. I asked him how I could cross over and he called 4 bike men who conveyed me with all my earthly possessions. I was disgusted by the 50naira I paid at each check point. It almost summed to a thousand Naira. My 50naira paved way for me to arrive at my supposed paradise. To my wildest surprise, that place was in collaboration with upper Iweka park in onitsha. You should have seen how these Nigerian agberos in Beninese body dragged my loads from the bike, each running to their respective cabs. My American boxes, Ghana must go bags and Nigerian baco bags were out of sight. I had to suspend my international spirit at once to call for my bags. Fimile! Leave my bags! Awon Omo ole!! Agberooo!! I sat on the floor to throw curses at the person who will rumple my foodstuffs and make my palm oil pour on my crayfish. They realised how crazy I was and returned my properties at my feet. I gathered my things, looked round my abroad to see I was practically the only fair person in their midst. In fact, children gathered me to beg for money as the oyibo they thought I was. I got a sim and fled into a cab going my way. On meeting the lady, she affirmed my loads were rather too much. I ignored her as I had other pressing issues. Everywhere was hot like hell was closer to them. I didn’t see skyscrapers, no white men, no nothing. To make matters worst, this lady asked if I would drink garri as an appetizer. I was shocked. ”You people use to see garri to drink here or you brought from nigeria”? I asked ”I don’t bring it from Nigeria, the woman downstairs sells it” she replied. I went downstairs to confirm, lo and behold the woman also sold groundnut, cowbell even agidi jollof. Benin Republic sun was on another level. My dreams of the white girl’s life turned to living the albino life as I was always running from the sun. When I sent pictures to my friends, they asked the reason I was dark on arrival. I told them I was tanning as the country was too cold and I didn’t want to look pale. I went to their market and heard ”my colour,my colour” just when I thought I left Nigeria.
What about my American husband?
All my dreams of Channing Tatum were ruined by men in osuofia in London body. The British accent I was trying to gather over the months, faded into the sun. I was left with their native fongbe accent. The most heart breaking was when I went to see my North american school but mistook it for afikpo grammar school. I thought of going back to Nigeria but how do I tell people I was deported.
Anyway, I braced up and lived with my warm glass of alomo milk shake though I kept thanking God for the constant light and the the calm environment, the opportunity he gave me to perceive a passport at a tender age, and also for being practical in teaching me that everything that glittered in life wasn’t gold.