My Nigeria trip has been postponed so I did the next best thing – I went to Enfield in North London (actually Middlesex) for the weekend.
Ah! Enfield. I spent two years after my MA living and working here and came to the conclusion that: 1)This has got to be the biggest Igbo community in London and 2) My God, are they Igbo.
This is the place that gave me Liyonard after all.
The minute I got off the bus, I could feel my steps become decidedly ijele-ish, swaying in that heavy-bottomed way that tells the story of offspring, much in the same way the male of the species pisses over territory. I didn’t mean to, it just happened. I thought I had escaped ‘the pullover’ as I got to my destination but within a few minutes of introductions, someone had called me ‘Nwa Baby’ and they weren’t Flavour N’abania.
Even Tot is in heaven, turning his head this way and that like an nkakwu discovering new nuts as accents fly at him from every direction.
In true Igbo fashion I’ve been co-opted to cook a meal for my cousin’s thing, so I have to go now. I hope I haven’t been too ‘rambly’ and I pray something blogworthy happens at that event today.