On Foreign Shores - 1

We, Oghenerukevwe and I, had just arrived at college. We were excited about everything; the number and diversity of people, the buildings, landscaping and even the very air. We’d worked hard to get to this hallowed place of learning and were looking forward to whatever the future here held for us.

At least, I was feeling that way until the fifth day on campus. You see, Rukevwe and I had decided that through our clothing, we would represent Nigeria wherever we went.

“It doesn’t have to be the entire outfit,” she’d said on the day we made that decision. “Maybe a kente sweatshirt on a pair of jeans, an Ankara skirt with a T-shirt, you get the picture.”

That was how we appeared everywhere, and that was how the questions began. We were strolling around the campus on that day, and decided to sit and a bench in the open and have our snacks. A blond girl and her friend sat on another bench across from us.

“Hello, I’m Melanie, from Kentucky. Are you a freshman?” she asked.

“Yes,” Rukevwe replied. “I’m Oghenerukevwe and this is my friend, Anie-immanteAbasi. We’re from Nigeria.”
We didn’t have to wait more than two seconds for the predictable response. Their eyes went wide and they burst into laughter.

“Are you kidding?” asked the blond’s dark-haired companion. “Your names are really that long? I couldn’t pronounce that if I tried!”

“But have you tried?” I asked quietly.

She blushed and mumbled something. Her muttering was interrupted by Melanie from Kentucky.

“Wow! You’re from Nigeria? I met a girl from Uganda once. Maybe you know her,” she said.

“Sure, I know her,” I replied. “Uganda is a small village right next to Nigeria. What’s her name?”

“I don’t recall,” she answered. “So, how did you get to the U.S?”

“I swam here on the backs of my pet tigers, using the WiFi at the tip of my spear for navigation.”

Beside me, Rukevwe began to shake with laughter. It was a competition between the both of us, to see who could come up with the most ridiculous answers to these silly questions we’d been answering all week. It started at the airport, when the custom officer asked her how come she spoke such good English.

“I quickly learned it while standing at the back of the queue,” she’d replied with a straight face. n

“Get out! For real?” Melanie asked, her eyes agog with wonder.

“That’s nothing,” Rukevwe piped up. “You know there’s just one airport and it’s in South Africa? Last month when I had to go to Ghana, the plane had to fly low and drop me on the top of an iroko tree. Then I climbed down and made my way into Accra.”

To be continued…