Nigeria: A Journey of Chaos, Culture, and Community

Arriving in Nigeria for the first time felt like stepping into another world. The bustling energy hit me the moment I landed at the airport. It was my best friend’s wedding, and I was beyond excited to be here, but little did I know what awaited me. After the long flight, I was left at the airport for three whole hours, waiting for a ride. I tried to be patient, but between the heat, heavy rain, and the overwhelming chaos, it was hard not to feel disoriented. The people there begin to hustle you for Naira the second you step off the plan. Yes, even the immigration officers--EVERYONE.

Finally, my ride arrived, and I was swept into the heart of Owerri. Owerri isn’t Lagos live I've seen on TV. It’s smaller, but what it lacks in size, it makes up for in energy. It’s alive in a way I hadn’t experienced before. As we drove through the bustling streets, the smells of street food mixed with the sound of traffic, honking, and people calling out to one another.

The wedding was the main reason for my visit, and my best friend was glowing with excitement. However, the wedding planner… oh my goodness. From the minute we met, I could tell she was going to be a disaster. Nothing was on schedule. It was the kind of disorganization that would send a perfectionist like me into a frenzy. But I had to go with the flow—this was Nigeria, and nothing moved at the pace I was used to. My best friend could only do so much because like me, although she is Nigerian, still also very American. We knew nothing. Still, I was there to be her Chief Bridesmaid and that I was! I'd do it again. 

On top of the wedding chaos, I had to deal with the attention from men, despite making it clear I was married. They didn’t seem to care! No matter how many times I said “no,” they persisted, which became both amusing and exhausting. It was an eye-opening experience into how different cultural norms can be. You NEED a man hovering over you in order to not be pursued. They truly want what they want. Eventually this became scary as I could not let it slip that I was in fact, married to a woman.

Being a lesbian in Owerri felt like walking on a tightrope every single day, always balancing between fear and survival. I was constantly aware of the danger that comes with being true to myself in a society that doesn’t just reject me—it criminalizes me. The laws there, especially the 2014 Same-Sex Marriage Prohibition Act, made it clear that people like me aren’t just frowned upon but actively punished. Knowing that I could face years in prison or worse simply for loving who I love was terrifying.

Going back into the closet at 38 when I've been out since 16 is crushing. It’s like losing a part of yourself, the most important part, and burying it deep inside where no one can ever find it. The loneliness of hiding who I really am was unbearable at times. I felt trapped in my own skin. The fear of exposure never left me, and with it came the constant anxiety that one day, I’d slip up. The people there loved me, but did they really? Would they still knowing this about me? I went as far as changing my wife's name in my phone. Truly a terrifying experience. 

Speaking of experience, I quickly learned that African women are truly the backbone of their communities. Everywhere I went, women were running businesses, caring for families, and somehow balancing it all with grace. They had this strength and dignity that was awe-inspiring. Despite the struggles of everyday life, they held their heads high, often carrying their families on their shoulders, figuratively and literally.

And let’s talk about the food! Nigerian food was a revelation. Jollof rice, Accra, Chim chim, Snail, goat, and pepper soup—each dish was more flavorful than the last. Every meal felt like an adventure for my taste buds. I ate more spicy food in one week than I probably have in my whole life. My favorite? Egusi soup with fufu. There’s something comforting and communal about eating with your hands, and I could have eaten that every day--NO LIE.

But let’s not romanticize everything. The roads were a mess, especially after the rain. Mud everywhere and navigating through traffic was like trying to survive a game of Mario Kart, with cars swerving to avoid potholes while motorcycles zoomed between lanes. And I can't forget the poverty that was everywhere. It’s one thing to read about it, but to see it up close—the desperation in people's eyes—it hits differently. Children begging at car windows, families struggling to make ends meet. It made me incredibly grateful for what I have but also deeply aware of how much needs to be done.

One thing I wasn’t prepared for, though, was the power situation. The electricity in Owerri would shut off randomly throughout the day. One minute I’d be relaxing in the rental, and the next, everything would go dark. It didn’t matter if we were in the middle of getting ready for the wedding or if I was halfway through dinner—there was no warning. It was frustrating, but you learn to adapt. Backup generators became a lifesaver.

Bargaining, though, was fun! I learned quickly that no price is ever final in Nigeria. You’re expected to haggle. Whether it’s a taxi ride or buying a dress from the market, you have to negotiate. It was challenging to watch and luckily, I didn't have to do it. It was done for me. And because everything was so cheap, I indulged—food, clothes, even tattoos. Yes, I got tattoos in Nigeria, and it was an experience! The price was unbelievably low compared to back home, and the artists? So talented.

One of the highlights of my trip was getting my hair washed outside. These people are not wasteful. There’s something so calming about it. The hairdresser massaged my scalp like it was an art form, and the outdoor setting made it feel so natural, so connected to the earth. And then I had the best pedicure of my life. I kid you not—my feet have never felt softer. For a fraction of the price, it was luxury I didn’t know I needed. I felt as though I was robbing these people blind. Or maybe it's us being robbed in America.

However, safety was a constant concern. Police at checkpoints were intimidating, often asking for bribes, and I had to remind myself to stay calm and compliant. What surprised me more was the vigilante groups doing the same. They carried an air of authority that kept people on edge, even though they weren’t official law enforcement. It was unsettling but part of the fabric of life there.

Despite the challenges, the sense of community was undeniable. Neighbors helped each other, children played together in the streets, and people shared what little they had. Life wasn’t easy, but there was a beauty in the way everyone looked out for one another. It was humbling to witness.

Nigeria showed me a mix of chaos and beauty, struggle and resilience. From the rough roads to the rich culture, from the frustration of dealing with a disastrous wedding planner to the joy of eating delicious food and making new friends—I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. It was messy, magical, and a reminder of the complexity of life in all its forms. I left with new tattoos, a deep appreciation for African women, and a heart full of memories that will last a lifetime.

And by best friend was the most beautiful bride that you ever will see!