Updated: Sep 25, 2019
This short story perspective serves as a part 2 to "A Nigerian Girl's Guide to Traveling After Being Rocked By [Parent's] Deportation (via @hownottotravellikeabasicbitch 's website). Around when I was 8 years old, I had a butting of heads with my maternal Auntie. One day, she was very tired from work. So instead of the traditional naija rice and stew, she boiled me some Ramen noodles. I had no issue with this meal except for the flavor. I was a Chicken or Shrimp flavor Ramen fan. My auntie gave me the original flavor in the baby blue pack.
Ewwwww. The Original Flavor Ramen Noodles were the worst to me. I hated them as much as I hated banana flavored laffy taffy. So she sat me at the dining room table to eat them but I refused.
After having a seat at the table for 3 hours with stubborn tears streaking down my face, my auntie had enough. She pulled my ear, led me upstairs to my attic bedroom and told me I would be going to bed without dinner because school was coming soon in the morning and she did not have time for my bougie tastebuds shenanigans.
Kids were to be seen and not heard in many immigrant households. To avoid being popped in the mouth or put in stand and keep your hands raised in the corner time out, I would vent through my journal. So, of course I wrote about my Ramen noodles frustrations in my school journal.
So my first solo domestic travel actually happened when I was 9 years old. A one way air ticket to Houston with a brief layover in Philly. I remember sitting next to the nicest Philly lady on the plane after we lifted off from Philly to Houston. She calmed down Young Fola's flight anxiety while I sat in the middle seat in tears, donning my big poofy fashion backwards white dress with the red trim, white stockings, church shoes and set it off stony box braids Bob.
I fell in love with Houston, Texas as a conscious kid the summer of '95. Although, I was born in Houston, I immediately traveled with my mom to Rhode Island and was raised there by my aunts and uncle 'til I was about 9 years old. My paternal aunt and uncle by marriage gave me a summer vacay I would never forget. My h-town auntie often didn't have energy for exquisite cooked meals after working at her job so many hours a week, so she would let me order a #1 with an electric Sprite at McDonald's every other day.
My cousins and I would play outside barefoot on the hot Houston concrete, play tag with the apartment kiddos around the green generator thingy and frequent the neighborhood pool daily followed by a snack of bologna miracle whip sandwiches laced with doritos of gold for that post-aquatic acrobatic hunger. *chef's kiss*
I fell in love with Houston Texas music and culture. KBXX Houston 97.9 The Box...tuned into the Mad Hatta Morning Show daily. I binged secular radio because I only tuned into Christian radio when I was raised in Rhode Island. Got in touch with my inner DJ Screw with the Screwtapes, exposed to UGK, the Geto Boyz ('RIP Bushwick), Scarface (Brad Jordan for City Council!), SUC, and Swishahouse.
I fell in love with Houston Sports. It was a hot Clutch City Summer when The Rockets, led by Hakeem "The Dream" Olajuwon, won the NBA Title in true grit and clutch fashion. The Houston Astros were entertaining us in the Astrodome repping hometown glory the best they could with the fiyah throwback jerseys. The Houston Comets 4peat came a couple summers later.
I realized my passion for anime, cartoons and leisure with my new found opportunities to watch unlimited cable and Sailor Moon marathons on the Boomerang channel. Wacky Race, The Jetsons, you name it!
I was definitely wooed by Hot Girl Houston for the majority of the summer of '95. I almost didn't want to go back to Pawtucket, R.I. but I missed my siblings and my school. In the south, the academic school year starts in August. In the northeast, they tend to start school in September. So, when August came around, my cousins were about to start school. Thus, my htown auntie started to try to finalize my trip back to R.I.
So my Pawtucket auntie essentially reneged on my htown auntie and forcefully gave her the torch/baton of handling this Bebe's kid, Young Fola.
Thus began my deep abandonment wound. Thus began by feelings of being seen as an unwelcome burden as a child in any home I stayed at. Ade the Black Sheep was birthed August 1995. The Young Fola Diaspora continues.
As a practicing Counselor, I've stated in alot of sessions that your gift is normally in close proximity of a Chiron (wounded healer) childhood wound. I was traumatized by my own gift of writing. I delayed sharing my story out of fear of pissing off some of my blood relatives and bringing "Shame" to the family name. But since I've always been the excommunicated black sheep, my only regret is not doing this sooner. All the sweeping of secrets under the rug never garnered the acceptance I wanted from them.
So here's to MY truth. MY story. MY freedom. Dracarys to all the fake connections and family ships. Young Fola has a story to tell. This is just page 2. How has the spirit of abandonment manifested in your life? How did you heal your abandonment wound? Please share in the comments for the promotion and support of all our healing. Click the link in bio for more on the story of Memoirs of a Young Fola's Diaspora.
24 views0 comments