Fieldwork: Blast from the Past 🚀
When Did I Immigrate to the U.S.?🛫
I was born in Lagos, Nigeria, on October 8, 2003. And as far as I know, all my ancestors procreated there as well. I lived in Lagos for six years, giving me more than enough time to experience the atrocities of the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND) militant group on live television. Their cruelty, combined with rampant corruption in the government and education sector, spurred my parents to immigrate to the United States. They always strove to provide my sister and me with the best in life, but the conditions found in Nigeria were not ideal enough to permit their efforts. As a result, they left their well-paying government jobs, packed their bags, and—in 2009—embarked on a journey towards a promising country.
Where Are My Ancestors From? 🗺️
I feel as though my family history is a knot of uncertainty. My parents claim that we all hail from Nigeria, but seeing as though my name has Egyptian origins—thanks Urban Dictionary—a sprout of skepticism has grown in my head. Perhaps there's some deep, dark family secret my parents are attempting to hide from me; perhaps there's nothing at all. Whatever the case, it seems to have strengthened their resolve to keep Nigerian culture alive and well in our household, specifically my dad's. He blasts Yoruba praise in the car, chastises us for eating "American" food, and shakes his head at our lack of Yoruba proficiency. My mom, on the other hand, tiptoes on both sides of the cultural spectrum. One day, she'll be making amala and ewedu for the family to eat with our hands; the next, she'll buy Five Guys and watch us chow down on our bacon cheeseburgers.
🌎 How Do My Parents Integrate Both Identities? 🌍
Pictured above is my late grandfather—he's the one sitting. I've never met him, never spoken of him, or ever known his story. He's always been a mystery to me, but somehow, he comes to mind whenever I think of my Nigerian identity. He was an influential government official, but more importantly, he was a die-hard advocate for preserving Nigerian culture. Today, it saddens me that his efforts may vanish with me. My parents try to make Nigerian culture an integral part of our household, but it's clear that they too struggle with maintaining their ethnic identity in the face of American society. They celebrate American holidays such as Thanksgiving and the 4th of July. They actively participate in American elections. They watch comedies on Netflix instead of their usual African movies on YouTube—my dad's recently gotten into Cedric the Entertainer. They prefer wearing typical American fashion—polos and Nikes for dad, Ashley Stewart clothing and wedges for mom—over traditional Nigerian attire. They've even started inserting bits and pieces of slang into their English vernacular. But even with the firm hold American culture has over them, they try their hardest to maintain our ethnic culture at home. I have to commend them for their efforts. Seeing them struggle to sustain Nigerian culture in our home instills a sense of pride in me. Even with the overwhelming presence American culture has in our daily lives, they manage to keep the flame of our ethnic culture burning. If they can do that, who's to say I can't do the same?