Journey to my home town
It was one of those cloudy mornings, I rushed to the bathroom to freshen up not minding the possibility of the rain, simply because I had my bags packed for a journey I have been dreaming about since I was a kid. I was born and brought up in Nigeria despite the fact that my mother originated from a neighboring country which happens to be a francophone country, the Republic of Benin.
I have always imagined what it will look like visiting a country that speaks a totally different language, I wasn't too bothered about their food because my mother prepares some of those delicacies at home, like the " de nsonu et woo", I also have a special interest in their "gbo Pete/ han pete" my mother brought this back from one of her visit to her parents when my grandmother was still alive, it tasted a little like the Nigerian pepper soup, so I knew I was going to enjoy their meals. My major concern was how to communicate even though I understand little of the "Gun" language but I'm not so confident, speaking it especially with the native speakers.
So, this faithful day was a Saturday morning and I was the first person to get dressed up, while my parents also prepared as we were all going for our grandmother's burial in Republic of Benin. I wore my favorite dress and made sure to keep some chocolates in my bag so I can show my cousins the things I enjoyed in Nigeria, maybe because I thought they didn't have chocolate in other countries😂, guess I was just naive back then.
so I guess it's okay to think that way. On getting to the park, the car had only one space left so we had to enter the next bus. We waited for about one hour before other passengers joined and the journey started. In less that thirty minutes, most of the passengers were asleep, except for me and my younger sister who were so anxious to travel, I brought out my jotter and started writing the names on the sign boards hoping that I'll remember those places and gist my friends about it when I returned. A lot of people selling different things that I've never seen or heard of, the one my father bought was "baguette", now I know it's called "french stick" in English language, the driver was speeding so much and he refused to listen to passengers begging him to take it slow, it continued until we got to the border, where we alighted and were asked to present our passports before entering, thank God my mother could communicate properly with them so they didn't delay us much, and I just kept watching kids speaking french like it was English language, I couldn't imagine myself in their position cause I haven't learnt the french language as at then. Finally we got home and was welcomed with joy by extended family members.
The first place I Visited in my home town was the beach and it was my first time of been in a beach it was such a lovely atmosphere
The most important thing I can't forget about this journey happened during the burial ceremony that actually took us to the country, they had this masquerade that was so colourful called "Zamgbeto" and instead of people been scared of it they were dancing around it, suddenly it changed from a masquerade into a big bird and later to a snake and then back into a masquerade. I couldn't believe my eyes, that was when I realized that magic was real. I had a nice time moving about with other kids, even though we barely understood each other but it was an amazing journey, I wish to visit the country again on a special occasion.
