For those of you who don’t know I am a proud Nigerian. October 1st marks Nigeria’s 56th anniversary of Independence from Brittain. Thus, I would like to share a poem describing how I feel being Nigerian.
It’s in my stride. It’s in my pride. It’s the way I ride, with no need to hide.
My melanin runs deep. Nigeria meaning blackness. They saw us as a color, yet we rose to greatness.
Western civilization made us hate our roots. But when those drums beat loud, we can’t help but follow suit.
Yoruba, Igbo, Hausa, or Calaba. It’s one nation that we love that makes us shakara.
I don’t mean to throw shade but we need to be paid. Can’t you see how much our joloff game slayed?
Nigerians don’t know how to tone it down. When wedding bells ring, us queens wear the crown.
The only thing higher than our geles are our aspirations. We work so hard you can see the perspiration…
Running down our high cheekbones, of our beautiful skin tones. From puff puff brown to ebony amala.
So much diversity. It’s such a travesty. That corruption is our first assumption when something goes wrong.
I nearly hurled when the hashtag “Bring Back Our Girls” was some of the first things they heard about us for a while in the media.
Yet I smile when Jidenna, Uzo, and David are running the game like they’re livid.
Livid for representation, mix up the concentration. Let us be known for who we are.
African Superstars. So Nollywood get it right. I know I’ll start a fight.
If I watch about voodoo, or juju without seeing our innovation. Or inspiration.
Fifty six years is a great feat. We’ve come too far to be beat.
It’s only a matter of time, till all the world will see us shine.
Flaws and all, I can’t help but fall in hysteria, over my sweet, sweet,