An editorial on a Seahawks player of Nigerian heritage from the Super Bowl-winning team.
I read “Naija electricity” and I laughed. I know it meant the Nigerian energy or suave. But I laughed and then I paused.
The United States of America is not a country deserving of passionate loyalty, that kind of love that just inexplicably befalls every other nation.
America should be content with taking my talent, my labor, my representation at contests, and the glory that comes with it. A corporation, at best — one I can perspire for, work for, win for. And at the end of the day, log out of and run into the warm arms of the one I truly love.
At every event, I search instinctively for the beautiful red stripes and fifty stars. I am lucky if I find one. Around it are many other flags waved boldly, sometimes draped proudly over shoulders. What this means, it is hard to tell.
Are these flags the “warm arms” of these athletes or performers? They prayed over them, kissed them, tucked them in their bags and hoped that a win would bring them flying out boldly. As their inspiration? A reminder of where they are from? Or whose win it is, truly?
America is like the company whose computer and internet are used during lunch breaks and quiet work hours to browse other opportunities, and book interviews. When the big break comes, there is hardly a notice given. At worst, it is faulted and cursed out.
God bless America for me to leave my country that lacks the platform for my talent to shine. God bless America for systems that move so quickly that my home country, if forced to witness them up close, might convulse from disbelief.
God bless America for me to bring all my parents and great-grand cousins over to experience this life.
God bless America for a small writer-girl from Nsukka, unsuited for domestic labor for lack of strength, cursed with an obsession for only one thing. In her country, she is relegated, scoffed at, told to be realistic. But through some link on the internet, she lands here and meets eager eyes waiting to read what she has scribbled, willing to pay her well for it.
God bless America so that I can wave my country flag; “Up Naija!” on the stage, for what it had nothing to do with, not hope, not electricity.
Maybe America is the OG user. Maybe using and being used is fair game, a well-oiled transaction that keeps the system working. However, it is a country. A country to natives who would watch, mouths slack, at the brazenness of the starving visitor now full and satisfied, as he thanks God for giving him parents who met and reproduced. Because if it were not for their effort, how else would he have the mouth to enjoy such a delicious meal?
Reading this made me pause too. As someone who understands both the hunger to leave and the ache of where we come from, the essay felt uncomfortably familiar. That mix of gratitude, irony, and guilt is rarely said out loud. You articulated it with such clarity.👏🏻