Going Home first time round. The Journey in.

We moved to Nigeria when I was 9 years old but even before then I was sold on all things Nigerian . From a very young age in England my father was forever whipping up these amazing stews and soups which brought my taste buds alive. I remember my first taste of egusi soup. It was like eating heaven. There is no other way to describe it after the English fare I had grown up on until then. Taste buds that I did not know came alive. I also remember being dressed as an African princess to go to my school's fancy dress compeition. I did not win but that did not matter as I loved the feel and vibrant colours of the ankara that was wrapped around my head and body. I somehow felt that I belonged to that fabric.

I always looked forward to my father's college friends dropping in, they did not display english politness and tact as they scooped me up their arms giving kisses , hugs and pinches and then bestowing me with little gifts of plantain chips , chin chin and "money for coke". These were my surrogate aunties and uncles until I was to reach "home " . Their loud discussions about Nigerian politics and even louder laughter had warmed up the whole house as did the sound of high life, reggea and a myriad of motown classics playing in the background.

A powerful wall of heat hit my body as we stepped off the plane at Murtala Mohamed airport in Lagos. I immediately had a nose bleed and was fussed over by my mother who herself had gone completely red. Having been brought up in the north of England where it gets extremely cold my body went into spasms.

Our first stop was to the Ikoyi Hotel to drop off our things. We lived there for a few months before my father's company found us housing. The second stop was to Glover Road in Ikoyi, my auntie Caro's house, where my real Nigerian experience began. My aunty could not understand why my ears were not yet pierced, and queried my mother strenously then proceeded to chase me around the house with a heated needle. needless to say she never caught me, while my cousins were making themselves very much at home rifling through my mother's bag taking whatever took their fancy. My mother was caught between a rock and a hard place. As this was her first time in Nigeria she did not want to appear rude to her new relatives, and not being sure of the protocol, left them to it her face getting redder by the minute.

My father had always spoken English at home and now all of a sudden there were conversations going on around me that I could not begin to understand. Their guttural sounds ringing in my ears I left to sit under the coconut tree wondering what language my teacher would speak to me when I started school in this strange unfamiliar place.