Whoop! I’m baaaaack! Well…sorta 🙂 Did you miss me? You have to say “yes!”. *Now staring at you through screen till it gets weird, in manner of Dora-the-explorer…
Well, I’ve missed you. I have gotten married and been pregnant and I am now a mom. Each experience is new and interesting and I will keep telling my stories on here (God help me). So enjoy and tell a friend!
Beep…beep…beep. I look up at the monitors, each beep is distinct from the other. There are three in total. The top one with the green squiggly line monitors the heartbeat, the middle one with the blue line is for oxygen, the third one is ummm…hmmm. I know this, the unkind nurse showed me.
The third one is to monitor umm…blood? Thoughts? Instagram likes? I don’t even know which is which anymore. Everything is becoming one loud haunting sound…Its all too much for me…much too much. I have always had a crippling fear of hospitals and Doctors because I hate needles and hospital visits always led to being poked with needles. But after the amount of time we had to spend with my mother at the hospital when she had the stroke, my fear and discomfort at the thought of hospitals quickly graduated to a deep hatred. I’ve never quite recovered.
I am at the hospital today. I have been here for about eight hours now and I am not doing very well. As I sit here and wait for any good news…any good news at all, I can’t help trying to figure this out. How did we get here? How are we even here!?
Like an animal hunting its prey, I lift my head and sniff, this becomes a slow deliberate intake of air. I want to smell it and feel it and be one with it. Many disagree with me, but I still think London is the most beautiful city. I love everything about it, the rude cab drivers, the jostling crowds hurrying everywhere but going nowhere, the perpetual cold, the statuesque buildings and monuments, the history…oh the amazing history! Even though all its buildings are painted the colour of misery, it’s old and wise and stunning in it’s beauty. I would live here if I could *Sureboy, relocate us na!*
It is my home away from home, or at least that’s what I tell myself. In all of my sojourns I ALWAYS manage to fit in a short stay of at least a day or two in London and I make sure it includes a Sunday so I can go to Church and see my bestie, Leah.
So here I am, back at home again. I decide that I am a Londoner aka sufferhead. I snob the taxi signs and instead hoist my two boxes down the ramp-escalator contraption thing, after all, all these Oyinbo people that use train to go everywhere don’t have two heads now! I convince myself that I can do this. There’s nothing there!
Hm. This train ride really opens my eyes to something. And I don’t know whether you will be as shocked at this realisation as I am when I discover it, but I quickly find out that:
I. Am. Not. Oyinbo.
You see, Oyinbo people for one, have the good sense to travel light, a back pack here, a pair of trainers to change into there and they are good. But I am a Nigerian *Swell Chest. Hold head high*. The land of the great, where the question “do you know who I am?” is a national greeting, and personal space is a thing other people have. I am Nigerian. Not just any Nigerian, I am a Nigerian, travelling from Dubai. Travelling light is a farce. A lie they tell people who are gullible.
It is with a growing sense of alarm and urgency (not to mention shock at the fact that my body can produce this much perspiration in this amount of cold) that I realise that there is no stair free access at my final station.
E gba mi!
I know I mentioned that I had two boxes, but I meant the Nigerian type of two boxes. Which means they are both filled to side-eye-deserving capacity…you know, the kind you have to lie down on top to be able to zip shut… and then I have my roll-on hand luggage and then my port mantle slung across my chest, plus handbag. I look up at the stairs that stretch before me and think to myself (accompanied by epic music playing loudly in my head)..this will be my everest…my Taj Mahal… my…“Ouch!”
This Ogbanje just shoved me out of the way sha! So, he wants to say he didn’t see me giving myself a pep talk here or what!? Rude! He must not know I am Bini.
I am quickly brought back from my angry reverie and pulled forcefully into the here and now. These suitcases are not going to carry themselves. So with steely resolve and not so steely arms, I lift the first box onto this annoying escalator. I have deduced that I can only take one box up at a time. So I have this one now propped against my hip and I am keeping an eye on the second box.
As I get to the upper level, I take my eye off of box two in order to place box one out of harms way and start heading back down. I couldn’t have been more than three minutes. But as I get back down to pick up box two, I see a police officer, a station attendant and a third man, who we shall disdainfully refer to as “the tattle tale”. This dirty man reported me sha! Where was he when they were teaching his mates to assist damsels in distress? Hm?
Apparently, he decided that I was a terrorist that had left my luggage behind to be detonated at my convenience. I mean! What did I ever do to deserve this? Who even does that? Why not just steal from the box and keep it moving, like a normal person?
Sigh. Thankfully the police officer didn’t seem terribly interested in the case and as soon as she saw me perspiring and borne down with all my other load, she decided I was suffering enough already.
I quickly gave the tattle tale as venomous a stare as I could manage (there’s always time and energy to eye people) and I carried my load and left the station. Of course, by this time it was pitch black outside and devilishly cold but I didn’t care, I almost skipped as I walked along Down Street, I was headed home and I was going to see my beloved Ginette!!!
As I am snapped out of my reverie by the nurse, I realise I had drifted off for a while. I am still here, in this hospital room. I scrub my eyes with the back of my hands and sit up.
“Yes?”, I respond.
“What is your relationship with the patient?”
As tears sting the back of my eyes, I answer her, wishing we were anywhere, anywhere at all but here.
Vintage Hat:Gift from my beloved Erica
Miu Miu Glasses: My Surest
Chiffon Shirt: H&M
Shoes: Louis Vuitton
Dress: Baby Gap
Chanel Brooch: Daddy’s
Shoes: Baby Gap
Photography: Ola-the-shadow 🙂
P.s These are recent pictures but not all of them will be. I will let you know what you are looking at when I post it. Kisses!