I’m still trying to process everything that’s happened in the past 12 hours—it’s been an emotional rollercoaster, to say the least. Let’s start with the fact that the airline didn’t bring my luggage. And not just mine—more than half the passengers were stranded without their bags.

At the airport, I struck up a conversation with an IJGB (you know, I Just Got Back) who casually mentioned she had paid N120,000 to ensure her seven suitcases were loaded. I chuckled internally, thinking, They just played this one. Imagine my surprise when all seven of her suitcases actually made it. So who really got played? The one who’s lived in Lagos long enough to know better.

As for me, I’m here, literally naked, sleeping in my dad’s pajamas. Thank God I packed my mini WhiffWonders body washes and butter in my carry-on. At least I smell better than the chaos I’m living through. 😮‍💨

Now, I get to the village, and my dad somehow expects me to recognize people who are apparently “my people.” Spoiler alert: I don’t know them. None of them. And yet, here they are, asking existential questions like, “Why don’t you know me? Do you know me?”

I give them their own medicine: “Do you know me?” Let’s be real—we’re strangers. The interrogation doesn’t stop there. “Why don’t you come home more often?” Easy answer: “Blame my dad.” If he had brought us here as kids, we wouldn’t all be playing Who Are You? as adults.

Then comes the classic: “Why don’t you speak Igbo?” Once again, I point to the man standing right there. “If he taught me, I’d speak it.” The irony? They respect him so much that my blame-shifting becomes a winning strategy. 🏆

Village life, though, is a different beast. It’s communal—very communal. Translation: personal space and boundaries don’t exist. Everyone wants to touch, hug, and invade your bubble like it’s tradition. Meanwhile, I’m holding onto my little stress-relief device like it’s my lifeline.

My dad, on the other hand, is having the time of his life. He’s ecstatic, and I’ve managed to join him in that state of bliss—let’s just say, by my own little means. Does the end justify the means? Absolutely.😜

Now, let’s talk gender dynamics. Here, the male child is king—even when he’s utterly useless. From birth, they’re trained to feel superior, while the women quietly handle the real work. But as I look around, I see more women thriving economically than the men they’re supposedly serving. The irony would be hilarious if it weren’t so frustrating.

Then there’s my dad, the village’s dispute resolution expert. People flock to him with their problems, and he revels in his role as “big man.” I’ve already sat through two meetings where I dared to challenge the status quo. My dad wasn’t thrilled. “You don’t understand tradition,” he scolded. My response? “Exactly. That’s why I don’t want to offend anyone, but you asked me to come.”😂😂

Will I come back? Maybe out of duty. Do I like it here? A resounding hell no. But the past 12 hours have been educational. In this village, tradition reigns supreme—even when it makes no sense.Meanwhile, I’ll be here, armed with my quiet little ally and a growing sense of humor, bracing myself for the next round of ‘Who Are You?’ interrogation. 🤷🏻‍♀️