Evolution – 1

Hi, my name is Adenike Oyelari, and this is my evolutionary story. It might not be what you expected, but I promise you, it is worth it.”

I typed the first line of my autobiography and sighed audibly. Who knew writing could be so difficult?

The weather in Asaba that late December afternoon was very unforgivable, because I was sweating, even though I was only clad in my underwear. As usual, NEPA had ceased the light, so there was no way I could power the AC or Standing fan in my room.

Because of the heat, I was very restless and was not in the mood to continue to writing my autobiography; apparently it was going to be a bestseller. I walked out of the double entry doors leading to my personal balcony, just to get a bit of fresh air. I was so not ready to be toast.

My balcony gave me a view of the orchard and placed me strategically in the direction of the cool breeze being blown by all the fruiting trees in the orchard. Why not just go to the orchard for air? My subconscious asked me. I knew why. I wanted to be alone, and staying locked up in my room was the only way to assure the continuity of that state.

Looking at the chap chap tree in the orchard, I slowly started drifting off in my thoughts; very strange ones actually. I chuckled to myself when I remembered my friends in Los Angeles would laugh if I told them we called the Sour Sop tree chap chap. Ha!! LA. I sighed to myself.

Who knew I would ever leave the US to become a full-fledged patriotic Nigerian with a knack for social media influencing. I looked at the grazing goats and chickens all resting underneath the shade of the orchard. They were feeling the intense heat too. One of the younger female goat was gnawing at the bark of the red hibiscus tree, while the castrated male was trying to mount her and mate with her.

I shook my head and smiled, after having enough of standing. I walked back into the room, leaving the double entry doors wide open; I needed the air. I plopped myself on the bed lazily and slowly reminisced on the past six months of my life and how much I had grown.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome on board the train of my thoughts. I suggest you fasten your seat belts because it is going to be a bumpy ride.

******

“Nikki darling, are you ready? Your cab is waiting for you outside.” My Mum called from downstairs and I hunched my shoulders in defeat.

“Just a second mum.” I shouted in return.

It was that time of the year again; summer break. The average American student would flip and rejoice at the mention of that phrase, not I. All the hours I should spend at summer beach parties, and hanging out with some of the cool kids from college were always spent in Nigeria, with my father.

Remembering Nigeria and my father always left a bad taste in my mouth each time, and it made me angry. Now was not the time to remember though, I had to get my reluctant butt downstairs, before I missed my flight; though I would be happy, but due to past experiences, I knew it would not stop my mum from booking another flight for me.

I looked around my room, and tears pooled in my eyes. Looking back on that moment now, I wondered if my subconscious knew that would be the last time I would be seeing that room.

I was 22 years old, a sophomore at UCLA, and majoring in political science and government, yet I was still a baby at heart. I dragged my suitcase downstairs, and tried to force a cheerful expression on my face for my mum.

She switched off the vacuum cleaner, dropped the machine, and quickly made her way towards me. My mum knew how to smother me with hugs, each time I had to make my yearly trip to my father.

“I’ll miss you Nikki. Please take care of yourself and be good all through.”

“Mum, I’m not a kid anymore, neither is this my first rodeo. I’ll call you immediately I land in Lagos, right before I take my flight to Asaba. Then I’ll call you when I touchdown at Asaba, and I know I’m also supposed to call you once I finally get to Dad’s place. Happy?”

“Very.”

“I’ll miss you too mum. Please go on that date with Brian, he’s so into you.”

My mum laughed and helped me wheel my suitcase to our porch, where the cab driver was waiting a tad impatiently for me. We hugged once more at the door and I quickly made my way to the backseat of the car before she sees the tears gathering in my eyes.

I hated summer. My ride to the airport was silent, just the way I liked it. I started making mental plans of my miserable two-month stay in Asaba. I had no friends over there, and I wondered what I was going to do that year to pass the time.

I wasn’t born or raised in America, but circumstances made us immigrants, then citizens by naturalization when I finally clocked 18. I was 13 when we left Nigeria suddenly, even though I barely understood what was happening.

Growing up, I finally understood that my paternal grandmother and aunties secretly married another wife for my father because my mum had no son or other children except me for 13 years. They didn’t want to understand that my mum suffered from serious PCOS, and it limited her chances of getting pregnant.

By the time I was 13, grandma brought the woman and her twin boys to the house as the rightful wife and kids. The boys were five years old already. My mum was devastated that my father could keep such a secret from her for five years, but dad defended himself by saying it was their culture and there was nothing mum could do about it.

Two weeks after that day, she came to pick me from school and we never returned to my Dad’s house. We spent a few months in Ibadan with my maternal grandparents, and my mum did the official change of name for me. I was no longer Adenike Nwankwo, I became Nikki Oyelari. Oyelari was mum’s maiden name.

I don’t know how my dad managed to win her forgiveness but she started taking me back to Asaba after I clocked 15 every summer break. Usually, she would return to Lagos after she saw me safely to Asaba, but since I clocked 18, I was finally allowed to make the trip to Nigeria on my own.

If only I didn’t hate the country and its culture so much, I would probably enjoy the break each year.

Nigeria ruined my childhood and my parents’ marriage, it made my classmates in LA mock me because I was from the country known for fraud. They mocked my accent, and they laughed at my expression each time the News carried a story of terrorist attacks in Nigeria. They would tag me to social media posts about the gross incompetency of the governors and senators of the country, just to make fun of me.

In school, though my documents had Nikki Oyelari, I went by Nikki Larry. I cut off every tie I had with that nation including my accent and hair. I couldn’t change my color, so I opted to be recognized as a black American.

All in all, that country gave me nothing, but took everything from me. If I can help it, this trip would be my last to that God forsaken land.

******

My Dad was waiting for me at Asaba airport with an ever ready smile, but as usual, I didn’t return it.

I called my mum to let her know I was in Asaba, and I was extremely jet-lagged after an 18-hour trip. I wasn’t ready to make small talk with my father, all I wanted was sleep.

“Nike, how are you doing? You have grown so much since last year. How was your trip? How is school? And how’s your mother? Let me help you with your bag.” His voice and expression showed pure excitement.

I moved my suitcase to my other hand and rebuffed his help. “Everything is fine, thanks.”

He sighed and held my shoulder firmly. “I know your mother didn’t raise you to be disrespectful. In this country, we greet our elders, and I demand that you greet me the way you should have.”

“And if I don’t? Will you do me the favor of sending me back? You think I want to be here?” We were creating a scene and he knew it.

He relented and led the way to his car while I followed. After making our way out of the airport, he resumed his tirade.

“Year after year, I have tried my best to make you feel welcome. I know the amenities here cannot be compared to what you have over there in the States, but I’m trying. Nike, I am trying.”

“First, my name is Nikki, stop calling me Nike.”

“I named you Nike, after your mum’s mother. I am not going to stop calling you what I named you.”

“Second, don’t act like you want me here. You never wanted me as a child, so why should I believe you would want me now?” My voice was breaking and I hated it.

He suddenly stopped driving and he parked the car by the side of the road. He turned to look at me, while I was trying to keep my tears at bay.

“Why would you think such a thing?” He asked softly.

I gave a bitter laugh. “Oh please. You cheated on my mum just because you wanted boys, since I wasn’t enough as a child for you. Instead of you to apologize, you let grandma insult her and call her barren, and you justified your misdeeds with the archaic culture you practice in this godforsaken land.”

“Nike, I swear to God, I loved you and your mother, but I let the fear of ‘what would people say?’ push me into hurting you both. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, but believe me, I want you here and I can’t wait to let you see how much I love you.”

The tears ended up falling and I groaned. I could be such a softie sometimes. I didn’t forgive him, not really, but I no longer hated him either.

When he finally realized I wasn’t going to say anything anymore, he sighed and started the car.

Halfway to the house, I noticed a bunch of posters and billboards; ever the political scientist, they caught my attention.

“The Delta State Governorship election is next month.” Dad told me when he caught me staring at a particular billboard.

I was silent at first, I wanted to ignore him, but my curiosity and interests wouldn’t let me. “Who is the young candidate?”

“That’s Peter Irivwotu for the CPC party. He’s a good man, but he’s not going to win. He doesn’t even have a chance.”

“Why not?”

“He’s competing against the likes of Chief Ikenna and the current Governor.”

“So, people would rather vote for chief Ikenna, someone who has served them for eight years in the senate with nothing to show for it, or reinstate a governor that has spent the past four years squandering their resources?” I was irritated at that moment.

He chuckled silently. “That’s the power of money my dear.”

“I’m sure the people will eat that 5000 naira for the next four years then.”

“You can’t blame them. They are poor and that 5000 naira is a lot to them. Those that know better know their votes won’t count so they don’t bother voting.”

“You mean people like you?” I asked him.

“I thought you hated Nigeria. Why are you suddenly so interested in our welfare and politics?”

He got me there! I scowled, folded my hands on my chest, and pouted like a child. We were silent through the rest of the drive to his place. When we drove into his compound, my eyes immediately went to the orchard.

It was my favourite place in the compound while growing up, and it was still my favorite place each summer. No matter the season, there was always a tree with fruit in there.

While I was getting my suitcase out of the backseat, dad went to close the gate. I turned to look at my home for the next two months, and I sighed. My Dad’s house was actually pretty big; when I was a child, I used to think I lived in a castle.

It was a turquoise storey building with two guest rooms downstairs and three bedrooms upstairs. Overtime, the décor and appliances inside the house changed to accommodate the ever changing trends.

I wheeled my suitcase inside after him. The living room was quiet and it felt devoid of life. I looked around me, feeling out of place, even though it was my dad’s house, it wasn’t my own home.

“You know your summer breaks come faster than that of Nigerians. The boys are still in boarding school and will not be home until next month. Amaka should be in the kitchen making something for you.”

Speak of the devil! Amaka came into the living room with a smile for me. I had come to like her over the years, though I wouldn’t let her know, when I realized she was also a victim of Africanisation. She was manipulated by her parents into dating and marrying my dad traditionally, without telling her he had a wife and kid in Asaba.

“Hi Aunty.”

“Nikki my dear. See how big you’ve grown. How are you doing and how was your trip?” She actually hugged me.

“My trip was fine, thank you. I am jetlagged and will actually love to rest.”

“Not without eating first. Tell me, how is your mother doing?”

“She’s really good. She’s seriously dating Brian, our handsome and hunky black neighbour and they are so happy and in love.”

“Oh!” This came from my dad.

Everyone was suddenly quiet because he didn’t hide the look of hurt and jealousy on his face well enough. I was suddenly happy and giddy inside because I made him feel one of the things his betrayal did to me.

“I’ll just go upstairs and shower, then I’ll come back down to eat. Is that okay with you?”

They both nodded, so I made my way upstairs, reveling in my victory while they stayed in an awkward silence. Someone will not be getting laid that night.