#and then debated myself cause there's no way to distinguish this from hot pants | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fatokifavour12-blog · 4 years

Text

Godsfavour Fatoki

Robert Lunday

ENGL 1301

December 12,2019

Two Year Experience, Forever Trip

A trip to Nigeria does not sound bad, right? Here is the catch; you have to leave your friends and family behind and can only communicate with your family through the phone. Feel like backing out? This is the story of my life, March 2016. Who knew I was set to hear news that would eventually lead to me staying in Nigeria for two years? Nigeria is a place of culture, one that I did not know much about until the end of the trip. One of the perks about knowing your roots, is just having some background knowledge about where you came from. Which I was naïve too, but slowly began to appreciate.

Given that you had the opportunity to go and learn more about your culture, and where you come from. Will it be easy for you to drop your friends, pack your bags and travel off to your fatherland? Sound Bittersweet? It is not that simple, especially when you are not familiar with the environment. I was given the opportunity but had no say in the decision making. Despite the idea of the trip being bittersweet, if you knew a trip like this would change the way you think and view the world, would you still go? How about if you could not come back and visit the states during the holidays? Even tougher decision. Maybe now you can have a sense of what I endured for two years straight. Two years straight. In addition, there would be limited phone calls because of the time zone difference, and sleepless nights.

I was born in Nigeria, but raised in America. That being said, I can be categorized under the Generation 1.5. This refers to students who are citizens or residents of the US but whose home language is not English. For some of these students English can function as their primary language. In Nigeria, the main tribes or languages are Yoruba, Igbo and Hausa. I was born into a Yoruba home. You can tell a persons tribe by either their first and last name. For example, the Yoruba tribe is known for the “Olu, Oluwa and ola.” Before the trip, since I could barely speak the language, I had trouble distinguishing tribes from one another. Usually, whenever my parents would speak to me in Yoruba, I would have trouble interpreting and I would ask my sister to translate for me.

Before I returned to Nigeria for two years, I went to Cinco Ranch High School. While attending the school, we would have some foreign students, or some other Generation 1.5 students who had a senses of background knowledge of where they came from. Other Generation 1.5 students would be asked what their home country was like, and from there they would be able to pour out information that would have you like intrigued. I was in search for my own story to tell not, someone else’s something to let others know that “I know where I’m coming from,” “ I know my country.” That kind of topic can also lead to good conversations.

With all the fun I was having in America, I then faced the music. I was finally going to Nigeria. Did I want to go? No! Not at all. So, I was going to Nigeria, there were no further questions to be asked, my parents’ decision was final. They insisted that it will be beneficial in the end. I would be going to Nigeria with my older sister and my dad, leaving my two younger sisters and my mom behind. My older sister would soon return to America after her first year.

The plane ticket was booked for the fourth of September, and by this time Hurricane Harvey had struck Houston. While I counted the days leading to my departure, I also prayed that Harvey would hit George Bush Intercontinental Airport so that my flight, and only my flight, for Delta Airlines would be cancelled. Unfortunately, this was not the case .Departure day arrived and all the roads had cleared up. Still refusing to believe this was happening, there I stood in front of Gate C, with a carry-on bag and a suitcase of clothes.

My sisters were in tears as they watched me leave, as was my mom, who tried fake a smile. This was pretty aggravating considering the fact that she wanted me to go. “Ill see them soon, after all its just two years it will be quick. Let’s just make the most of it” I say to myself as I passed the checkout area. At the moment, I felt no need to cry or whine about it, because complaining would only make my it longer. I just had to take it as it was, as much as I felt like running away. Who knew what good could come from this?

The plane landed successfully on the fifth of September; school started on the eleventh. I would be attending Grace International High School, a boarding school in Lagos, Nigeria.

The following day my dad used it as a day for relaxation, considering that we were coming from America we had to adjust to the time zone. My dad took me around town the next day, showing me some great places and sights. He showed me the hospital where I was born and the flat we stayed in when my mother was in labor.

I was born in a small hospital in Victoria Island. Victoria Island is a big area in Lagos. Lagos is like the suburbs of Nigeria. Lagos is the heart of Nigeria, this is where the money and power is mainly located. All the powerful people in the country stay in Lagos. In a sense Lagos is like the New York of Nigeria. This is where the most attractions are, and Victoria island is at the center of it. Most businesses and churches are established here.

On the seventh of September, we went to the school. We came here this day so I could see the school I would be attending. As we approached the gates of the boarding school, I began to have mixed emotions about it. Excitement and suspense filled my head as we came closer after the long car ride we had. As I stepped down from the car, I was told I would be taking my entrance exam. An exam of which I was not ready for at all. At this point my heart was basically racing and I was not happy with my dad for making that call. There was not anything I could do about the situation, so I did not complain out loud. The thought of failing crossed my mind at the time. “What would happen if I fail,” “I don’t want to fail and waist his money.” My dad made no attempt to calm me down; the only thing he would say was “you ready?” Now that was a rhetorical question any answer other than “yes” would result in a hot slap.

I walked in giving myself motivation. The examiner walked in and handed me my papers. She told me I would be doing a Math and English exam. She asked me the one I would like to do first, and I chose to do Math. As she handed me the paper she told me that I have an hour and thirty minutes. The math test felt easy up and till I reached question 25. I flipped through the remaining pages and realized that I had 50 Multiple choice questions, the remaining questions where non multiple choice. This caused me to start sweating in fear. I skipped question 25 and moved on “Is their any other easy question I could do?” I asked myself as I was running out of time. The examiner then walks in and says “Thirty five minutes left” and this is where I panicked “screw it A B C D!” I went straight to the non-multiple choice questions and could barely answer three questions. My heart sank after submitting the paper, I fought back my tears as the examiner handed me the English exam. Knowing how bad I did on the Math, I was determined to breeze past the English paper. I felt the English paper was somewhat easy, but not bad enough for me to fail.

The examiner checked my work and gave my father back the result. They discussed in Yoruba for a while, I eavesdropped, and only picked out phrases in what they were talking about. The were saying something along the lines of “he needs improvement, but he has been accepted.” A wave of relief filled me inside, and it must have been contagious because it showed on my fathers’ face. My dad now paid the school fees that I had so I could get my school clothes and books.

They sent us downstairs so I could get my uniform for the boarding house and for school. The boarding house uniform we would wear for any activity other than sports that took place downstairs. The boarding house uniform was a checkered blue shirt and khaki pants for the boys and a checkered pink gown for the girls. The school uniform was strictly for school and school excursions such as debate club competitions. The school uniform was a green long-sleeved button-down shirt with a tie and colored whine pants with black shoes and socks. I was absolutely disgusted by the uniform. It was evident that who ever had the idea of such nasty looking uniforms had no fashion sense whatsoever. The two colors did not fit together in any sense, my dad told me to manage the clothes because there is nothing we can do but get it fitted.

The first year was off to a rocky start, friends did not come easy, I was a little secluded because I was missing home. I was falling a little behind in some of my classes, because it was pretty difficult for me to balance 11 subjects. I was doing Calculus, Math, Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Computer, Catering, Civic studies, Yoruba, Geography and English. Some of these subjects I was being taught as a fresh subject. I had enrolled into the school as a year 11 student, and my mates have been taught these subjects since year 10. In order to make good grades I would stay back for tutorials, and I would read over night. It was not as easy as school in America, because I was used to taking only seven classes a school year.

In the school we had three terms a school year, I did not feel comfortable till the second term. I became friendlier but was not feeling true to myself. So I became a little more withdrawn and did not give anybody a chance to speak bad about me. Before I left I was a bit of a extrovert, me having the mindset of “I do not want to be here” really kept me from making friends. I still managed to figure it out because I could not help but talk. It was not until my second year that I began to feel more comfortable; though this was the year I felt more alone because my sister was not there with me, I became more independent. I started to branch out to more people than I did my first year. My dad would call me sometimes but it was not as frequent as it was my first year in the school. At this point I had not been missing home as much I was before and I felt more free with people.

The boarding house was pretty awkward at first primarily because of their restrooms; the place where we shower was not divided by any stalls or curtains. When we shower we could see each other’s private parts, which too me was very uncomfortable. It took me a couple days to get used to the showers. Inside the boarding house phones were not allowed, and this really prevented me from talking to all my former friends. Instead of phones, they allowed tablets sadly there was no free Wi-Fi. So some kids would hack the principal’s server and steal their Wi-Fi.

The boarding house was ran by the boarding house master, and the Boarding house prefect and the seniors. The school has elections that they do for every set of kids for every school year. The seniors were basically in charge whenever the boarding house master was not around. The seniors often abuse their power when it is given to them. The seniors bully their juniors. By junior I mean any student in the grade below. The boarding house had students from the 7th grade to the 12th. So the seniors had had wide range of students to pick on, I was in the 11th grade. The seniors gave the 11th graders some regard because they will soon be entering 12th grade so conflict between them was not much.

The prefects and students were allowed to belt other students, meaning that they could use a belt and deal with the students that were misbehaving. The boarding house master would use and object we called “cane,” which is basically like a tree branch. The cane could be used by a teacher, the principal and the vice principal. The boarding house master was known for his good arm. For an old aging man you would be surprised at how fast his hands move. The fear of being beaten by either one of those objects really got to me. So I was really cautious with how i acted in front of certain people and in different situations. I would often stop my juniors or mates from doing wrong to the juniors, but after a while I just got tired and lazy. Being mean to others people seemed to be the trend, which I nearly followed along to. The seniors do not like to be told what they were doing wrong, and when told it would result in a beat down to the students.

The experience shaped me to be who I was today; the nights I barely got any sleep really paid off in the end. It really opened up a part of me that I did not know I had. I had become more familiar with my culture and began to appreciate the side of me I did not know much about. I learned to appreciate what I had and I became more grateful for what I had. In Nigeria, not everybody has enough money to plan a trip to abroad, but I went there and came back. With all that I have seen in the country it had me thinking about how I could contribute to the society, a lot needs to be done to the country to speed up development. For that I thank God I went. Without the trip I do not think I would have sense of independence , I really went in to depth with my roots.

I have established a social network that will be useful to me in the future, the people I met will and can benefit me in the future. The friendships I have made with the people I met over seas I really enjoyed my time with will come in handy when I plan my return to the country soon. You never know what you can do till you go through it alone.

2 notes · View notes