Every Christmas I go home in a rented car. I wear clothes I bought on Jumia but describe them differently. I talk about "the office" and "my team" in ways that are technically true but deeply misleading.
My mother is proud of me. She tells everyone her daughter is doing very well in Lagos.
I am doing okay in Lagos. I have a job. I pay my rent. I manage. But "managing" does not translate to Igbo. The only acceptable Lagos story is success.
The exhausting part is not the lying — it is the mental energy of keeping the story straight. Which cousin can't know what. Which uncle asks too many questions. Which version of myself to deploy at which gathering.
I am building something real quietly. In a few years I hope the performance will match the story I have been telling.
Until then: this is my confession. I am not as fine as I say I am. But I am fine enough. And that will have to be enough for now.
My mother is proud of me. She tells everyone her daughter is doing very well in Lagos.
I am doing okay in Lagos. I have a job. I pay my rent. I manage. But "managing" does not translate to Igbo. The only acceptable Lagos story is success.
The exhausting part is not the lying — it is the mental energy of keeping the story straight. Which cousin can't know what. Which uncle asks too many questions. Which version of myself to deploy at which gathering.
I am building something real quietly. In a few years I hope the performance will match the story I have been telling.
Until then: this is my confession. I am not as fine as I say I am. But I am fine enough. And that will have to be enough for now.
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