Dear Nigeria,
I went back to you for many reasons.
One was logistical — my green card interview date was finally released, and I had to return weeks ahead of time to prepare. Another was personal — my grandfather’s funeral was in December, and I wanted to be there. I went back hopeful, believing that being home would bring some comfort during an already heavy season.
Instead, the experience felt severe.
Every step of the process felt unnecessarily difficult. Things that should have taken thirty minutes took weeks. Network issues. Apps that didn’t work. No clear information online. Little explanations. Endless back and forth. Frustration after frustration. Deadline after deadline. It was brutal.
On the day of the interview, the embassy left us standing outside in the rain for over an hour — when they could have simply opened the gate and let us into the building. There were elderly people. Two pregnant women. Everyone just waited. That moment crystallized something for me. It reminded me, very clearly, that the country would never care for me in the way I needed it to.
And yet — I would still miss it.
I would miss the food.
The chaos.
The festivals.
The strange rules that somehow made sense only there.
My house.
My baby cousin, who might not even remember me when I return.
Leaving was bittersweet. It always is. Nigeria is the place that shaped me, but also the place that taught me what survival looks like when systems fail you. Loving it does not mean romanticising it. Grief and gratitude can coexist.
I’m happy to be with my family in America now. Safe. Settled. Building something new. But a part of me will always carry home — not as just nostalgia, but as truth.
Signing off,
Edidiong C
Creating My Autobiography 