Adaudo Anyiam-Osigwe: My love affair with Africa (30 Days, 30 Voices)

 

Breathe Africa. And laugh a little even as I cry. Your weakness is okay. I love you regardless.

 Africa, you are the second person I ever loved. The first God and all those in heaven; the third my family and my friends; the fourth a boy. But of all the four, you have made me weep the most; not because of watching you plunge into utter despair and desperation, but because I have no idea how to save you.

I loved you because I had to love you. I’ll admit that. I didn’t have to love the other three, I felt they were by choice, but it is you I felt I had to love. Maybe because I make up an eyelash on your eyes, and when people see me, they surely would see you. So, I felt I must love you – everyone would look at us together, and if one appears sad and dejected, the other even if they are the opposite would also appear so.

I was quite little when I started loving you. I really didn’t know who you were. I think I enjoyed those first few years. I saw nothing wrong with you; I even thought you were a beauty to behold, especially when I heard you were the cradle of civilization, where all things began.

I don’t know when I started seeing your deformities. Your hair so dirty, filled with all sorts of rubbish I know not what of. Your eyes large and bulging and red and hurt. Your ears closed up; your mouth sewed shut. Your nose so large, caused by the huge torrents of blood gushing out.

Then I look at your body. Some parts are so bloated as though they ate the food of ten people; but most of it is dangling like a leaf, almost like a skeleton about to turn to dust. You can’t walk; you are too tired from all your labours and suffering. Your hands are stretched out, I don’t know if it is begging, praying, or pleading for mercy.

I am now finding it hard to love that which is considered ugly. Africa, it is hard. Look at your body, your head, everything, all the parts are running away. I don’t know if I want to be the last part standing, because for one, you will be dead. When I listen to your brain talk, I understand very little of why you are like this. But I feel that, no matter how you talk of your plight in the hands of other persons, you are more angry with yourself.

Then I have pity. I feel sorry for you. I dream of how I would gather all your parts together – reform, mend, correct… them and return you to your former glory. But I am an eyelash – an eyelash. Not a hand, or a foot, or even the eye itself. Then I feel dejected, and then we both are dejected.

I used to feel ashamed and embarrassed when people pass us by and look at us – some look sad, some have pity, other laugh, a few smile, and most of them just look disgusted and happy. We have become used to that, haven’t we Africa? So, when they pass now, we also make our own private jokes.

But Africa, I am tired, and I don’t want to end up like you. I don’t know the day I will fall off, it might be today, but it might never even be. So, I’m thinking we have to find some way. Can’t you command yourself – they are your parts? Oooh, you are making me angry. I’m sad now. I feel lost. I don’t even know what I am doing again.

Africa, Africa, … aah Africa, ….

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Adaudo Anyiam-Osigwe sometimes writes poetry.

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30 Days 30 Voices series is an opportunity for young Nigerians to share their stories and experiences with other young Nigerians, within our borders and beyond, to inspire and motivate them.

 

Op-ed pieces and contributions are the opinions of the writers only and do not represent the opinions of Y!/YNaija.

 

 

One comment

  1. Nice one, I am also angry at Nigeria, but I love him still. Call it unconditional love

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