Literally tossed and turned all night. Luckily the heat is so high that I was too dazed to stay awake.

The sun was officially up by 7:00am. My aunty made sure I knew that since she opened up the curtains and began making noises.

As I untied the bug net from the side of me, I glanced at my phone (which I really just use for the camera) then scanned the room for the small WiFi device we’ve been sharing. It’s a habit & wishful thinking at this point since it rarely works. Fuck it, it DOESN’T work.

Oh, Aba.

Some background:

(Aba is a city in Abia State. Southeast part of Nigeria.

In the words of my Uncle, Aba is the “commercial capital” of Abia state.

This is where people come to from all over the country to buy things. Until maybe 6 years ago when the government started taking money and… to put it frankly, fucking shit up.

That was also the kidnapping Era. Foreigners were the targets. If you only knew. They’ll ask for ransom…and still kill you! That’s why having someone (preferably security or a soldier) with you at all times is crucial.

You pay for what you want. The more you dash (give), the more you get. For us to be safely escorted everywhere we want to go, my uncle pulls out bundles of Naira. The American dollar to naira at this time is 1 to 318.

Anyways, the roads of Aba are better than the roads in the village, to say the least. One thing that they have in common are the numerous pot holes, dips, and broken roads.

There are people EVERYWHERE. All minding their own business and enjoying life. Singing, giggling, arguing, cleaning, and COOKING.

Small taxi cars painted yellow swirving, speeding, and breaking down on the roads. Bus drivers, with passengers packed like sardines in all the seats, honking their horns and wailing their arms. People looking one way instead of both ways before running across the road.

One thing is for sure, we all take the weather differently. The people that live here are used to it. I know that they know it’s hot. Not only do I see it on their faces but I see the sweat stains on their shirts and can smell the body odor that plagues the air. It’s hot, yes… but what can you do about it?

I literally feel like if someone were to crack an egg on my BODY, I could make breakfast to feed to the village. I’m wiping sweat off my face and all of my limbs, just to have it reappear within seconds.

I’m missing my crop tops and summer shorts.

Everywhere you go in Nigeria is conservative. You won’t EVER see butt cheeks hanging out of female shorts or breasts spilling out of their shirts. Never ever.)

Anyways. At the market earlier:

One by one, myself, mama in law, and my aunty stepped out of the car onto the dirt road.

Mama in law’s driver released us in the center of the open air market.

I jumped back at the sight of the motorcycles zooming our way. Regretting leaning against the burning hot car, but thankful that I didn’t get knocked out by the driver of that bike.

Remember, it’s human and auto traffic combined out here!

My mind was flooded with the fact that i was now in the open and no longer being shielded from inside of the car. I clutched my wallet tighter, put my hand over my head to ATTEMPT to block the sun, and searched for my aunt and mama in law.

These women are fast!

As I caught up with them, I tried to match the footwork and rhythm in which they safely carried themselves in between the road, cars, motorcycles, and street sales boys/sales girls.

We went in, out, under and over. The hardest part wasn’t tracing their steps or making sure I didn’t step off the path and fall under… the hardest part of our current mission/adventure was going back and forth from smiling and frowning.

If I smiled too hard, all the sales people took it as me greeting them and pulled (literally) me inside their hand crafted structure.

If I frowned, the women left me alone BUT the boys and men would grab hold of my loose swinging arm or hand and try to pull me inside their structure to either sell to me or console me.

As I LITERALLY ducked and dodged, I looked up relieved to see that my aunt and mama in law had stopped to purchase fabric.

Jeez fabric is so beautiful but so pricey.

I made my two selections and sat, fanning myself, as I watched the two women shout and bargain with this man wearing a button up shirt that was ripped open from his round belly.

My aunt made her selections and explained that her brothers and her father gave her money to buy all of her fabric. They’ll toss it on her while she’s dancing at tomorrow’s event in the village. This is to signify that her family has money and she is loved.

Another African tradition is to “spray” money on people who are dancing at the get togethers. Even better, sticking the money onto their sweaty bodies. This signifies the same thing as the fabric.

That evening I found myself packing up my belongings so that me, my brother, my uncle and my aunt can have the driver escort us to the village for the night.

Hours later, we were yet again released from the air conditioned car.

I’m really starting to hate these 3 hour car rides on this bumpy road and heat. Luckily the heat knocks me out each time and I sleep for most of the way.

As I was the last to crawl out of the car, a huge smile of relief appeared on my face. I stretched for a moment before walking up to where my brother stood.

We were in Isuikwato. The village that housed my mom’s side of the family.

As expected, we were greeted by all of our aunts, Uncle’s, cousins, and other well wishers.

A lot of faces I remember and a lot of faces that I don’t recognize but recognize us came lining up.

One woman in particular grabbed my brother and I both, started yelling out our names and hugged us continuously.

As soon as I wrestled free from her tight hold,  i looked at her and stood there shaking.

I wept uncontrollably.

I couldn’t stop myself from crying.

For just a moment, I thought it was my mom hugging us.

It was actually my mom’s baby sister that resembles her immensely. They could have probably passed as twins if she were still alive.

She shares the same face, smile, and heart as my mom.

At that moment, my Uncle’s wife snatched my arm and pulled me inside. As we stood in one of the rooms she yelled at me to stop crying. She explained that it’s not a good time to cry. If there was anyone there with ill intentions, they would’ve came up to me and put juju (witchcraft) on my eyes. She continued on by saying that I could’ve ended up blind if the wrong person wanted to wipe the tears off of my face.

Nigerians and their precautions.

Thankfully, I was too hot to shed another tear.

The rest of the night continued on with food being brought to us, singing, and dancing. At some point I drifted off to sleep.

With nearly being knocked over by a motorcycle, sweating like never before, and seeing my mother’s siblings, today was an adventure in itself.