Being Lara (24 page)

That night after a dinner of bubble and squeak (a mix of fried leftover greens and potato), Lara lay on her bed, orange sponge headphones pressed against each ear, gray lamp lit up beside her.

By the time she heard Mum calling up to “get into bed, NOW!” Lara realized she'd listened to Public Enemy once, perhaps a little unsure about the lyrics in a few of the tracks, but with the Arrested Development tape, she had become totally immersed in joy as an unfamiliar fusion of African beats and contemporary sounds danced within her eardrums. Lara's first taste of African type music allowed her to feel as if she'd just been kissed for the very first time—
whatever that felt like.
It was like being reborn, awakened. Like she'd just discovered pure gold that had been buried beneath the soil of a road she'd walked on every day. It was fresh, exciting, beautiful even, and she wanted more and more of it.

She shook her hips, bopped her head in time to the hypnotic beats, and twirled her body downward to as low as she could—in front of her mirror, on top of her bed, her heart racing with exertion and excitement. A new discovery. A new connection.

That night, spent and dressed in a pair of blue-and-pink-striped pajamas, orange headphones resting against each ear, Lara fell asleep comfortably to the lyrics of “Tennessee”:
“Take me to another place. Take me to another land…”

By the end of the month, Lara had saved up enough money to buy both albums. Because Makeda was a fourth-year student, they could never be close friends, but Lara was happy to catch any tidbits of information she could impart on the subject of Africa, or anything really. Not even sure where Makeda was from, Lara was just happy to learn
something
—a fact, a nugget of knowledge, however minute—that she could relate to being African. And when Lara played the albums, as she did each and every night on her Walkman as Mum and Dad chatted downstairs, she began to feel a sense of independence. But this was something so much more than a textbook preadolescent “finding her place in the world” moment in time. Arrested Development and Public Enemy cassette tapes had given Lara something she hadn't even been aware she needed or wanted and was a world away from anything she had ever known. This was something Mum and Dad just couldn't have ever told her about—even if they'd wanted to—and for that, she felt so so so guilty, as if in some way she was betraying her parents.

And she couldn't hurt them, would
never
hurt them, she told herself, while at the same time knowing that now this particular door had opened, she'd no intention of shutting it.

Instead, she stuffed the tapes down the side of her bed where no one would ever, ever find them.

Now

T
he second she googled “Nigeria” Lara unearthed a wealth of information, seemingly supposed to mean something to her. It might not have been the first time she'd ever done so over the course of her life, but the appearance of the two women had reignited the search with a passion never felt before.

She tapped away, and from inside a striking green-and-white flag, words flew out at her like missiles. Most popular tribes:
Hausa, Igbo,
and
Yoruba.

Which one was Lara from?

Number of languages spoken: 521.

Which language had Lara spoken and understood up to the age of three?

She tapped and read until her eyes began to blur, pausing only to pick up her phone when the neon light demanded her attention.

“How you doing?” asked Tyler.

“I'm fine … good,” she replied absently, one eye on her computer screen.

“You're fine. Even though your grandmother's just turned up!”

Another surreal phrase to add to the list of words recently entering her life that still just didn't sound right:
birth mother, grandmother, Yomi, Nigeria.

She opened her mouth in renewed surprise and exhaled.

“A grandmother, Tyler…” she said, turning from the computer.

“Must be such a nice surprise.”

“I suppose it is… I've never been anyone's real granddaughter before!” she said, trying to ignore the slight fizz of excitement in her voice.

“That's amazing! Where can I find you, baby? I want to see you.

This is too amazing.”

“I'm at the office,” she replied, minimizing the website.

She glanced at her random “notes”—
Nollywood, palm oil, buba
. “But can I see you tomorrow, Tyler? I'm in the middle of something. Is that okay?”

“You're still at work?”

“Yes, sort of. I've been—” A twinge of embarrassment snuck in. Lara was not ready to reveal her cultural failings to Tyler of all people. He knew more about Nigeria than she ever would—and he was an American!

“I've been … looking up stuff … on Nigeria … you know…”

Much to her hurt, she could hear a brief chuckle from Tyler's end of the phone.

“And that's funny because?”

“I'm not laughing at you; I just think it's sweet that you're wanting to try.”

“Right,” she replied sarcastically.

“Listen, honey, this may seem strange coming from a man who earns his living off the Internet, but take it from me, it's better to just go and immerse yourself in the culture. You're not going to achieve much by sitting at a desk, logging on. You need to
really
feel the culture, the people, sounds, smells, strengths, weaknesses, and a whole lot more. One summer I traveled to Tanzania, Kenya, and Namibia—I learned so much about the people, the food, the practices.”

“Are you suggesting I travel to Nigeria?”

“I know that's not practical right now. But maybe there's another way. Think about it, okay?”

As soon as he hung up, Lara clicked back to the website that promised to educate her on all aspects of the Nigerian Igbo culture.

An hour later, she knew what fufu was and that Victoria Island in Nigeria boasted beautiful beaches, but still, she was unable to
feel
the essence of her birthplace. And soon, she began to realize what Tyler had been trying to tell her.

Knowing she still had so much to learn and with Tyler's suggestion echoing in her head, and much to Jean's surprise, Lara took the whole day off. She stepped out at the Warren Street tube station, smiling self-consciously. She was going to find Nigeria—away from her mouse and keyboard and within
London.

The British Museum existed under a vast white bubble, boasting a large atrium that let in a bright midmorning sun. The assistant sitting behind a large information desk directed her to Room 25—the Sainsbury Wing—which she almost ran to, in childish haste, excited at the prospect of what existed behind that glass door.

Groups of tourists with earphones and rucksacks stood in her way as she moved toward the entrance, pushing open the door, nothing preparing her for the first exhibits behind tall transparent expanses. Two large, rather frightening but very impressive costumelike objects stared back at her first. “Masquerade outfit” began the description on a small white card. The objects were apparently made from vegetable fiber, textile, and wood, originating from Malawi. Lara began to imagine the outfits coming to life at any moment, devouring her whole. She shivered, recalling the dreams she used to have as a child, her young mind attempting to ascertain the essence of Africa and basically coming up with fragments of what she'd seen represented on television.

She moved on to weapons of armor—bows, arrows, spears made from wood—and animal remains. Farther down, she viewed materials and cloths from North, West, South, and East Africa. One particular cloth stood out for Lara—apparently from Cameroon, green with yellow and red oblong shapes. A feeling of familiarity washed over her unexpectedly.

She moved on to a rather large painting in which the artist had used animals to depict the Last Supper, then walked up to a beautifully carved wooden door from southern Nigeria, which she felt compelled to touch. Lara felt a mixture of elation and wonderment—a desire to learn and sadness at having never known.

Lara examined statues from Senegal, hats from Gambia. Africa, with so many rich cultures and customs, was clearly a large continent—not to mention the vastness of Nigeria itself. Artifacts, like the statues from Ife and ceremonial costumes, seemed to be split into different regions of the country.
Where was Ife? Had she ever been there as a child?
She knew Yomi had lived in Lagos, so did that make her a Lagosian or Yoruba, or what?

“Is there something in particular you are looking for, madam?” asked the woman in the blue T-shirt emblazoned with the museum logo. Lara noticed no one else was being asked. Not even the annoying tourists with the headsets, because even
they
knew where they were headed, unlike Lara.

“No, I'm good, thanks.”

“If you need any help…”

Lara had never wanted to shout at someone for being helpful before.

“Thank you. I said I'm good. Thanks.”

Slightly dejected, Lara sat down in front of a model made out of numerous squares depicting scenes of “life”: combat, birth, hunting, cooking; life in all its forms. Of course the plaque beside the display contained a snippet of information on what it was supposed to represent, but to Lara it represented nothing more than pretty pieces of steel bonded together. In fact, she was surrounded by
many
pretty things she unfortunately just couldn't make sense of and felt no connection to. And perhaps they'd only begin to mean anything if she understood them fully, not just as specimens in a museum, but by
experience.
Again, she thought of what Tyler had said.

After a quick coffee, Lara moved on to the second phase of her preplanned fact-finding day by jumping back onto the Victoria Line, this time heading south.

Choosing Brixton as part two of her “seek Nigeria” expedition was a definite misguided cliché, she knew that. But it was where her instincts led her.

Lara wasn't a
total
stranger to Brixton. She'd been to the Ritzy cinema a couple of times and eaten at a quaint Japanese restaurant with Sandi just off Coldharbour Lane, but standing outside the vastly modern tube station, she felt lost and slightly confused and not dissimilar to the way she'd been feeling over the last few days. Yomi's arrival not only had upset the applecart, but spilled so many apples onto the street, it was hard to find and rearrange them in any sort of orderly fashion. Feeling that her life was a fragmented mess at that very moment, Laura thought Brixton seemed like a good place to move on to in her quest to find out more about her past without having to leave the country. She'd get a snapshot of the language perhaps, an aroma of one of the national dishes, and a glimpse into the fashion. Of course, she wasn't stupid. She knew that one day in a room with Yomi and her grandmother would probably answer the suitcase of questions she was carrying in her head. And she now realized that Tyler had been trying to tell her that, too. But she'd be the last to admit to anyone that she, the kid born in Nigeria, couldn't tell her Yorubas from her Igbo; hadn't a clue about Eba; and probably hadn't engaged in a meaningful conversation with anyone remotely Nigerian in her entire life.

So Brixton would have to do.

The elusive sun had decided to hide behind cottony clouds, but the temperature felt warm enough to induce an air of positivity as Lara mingled with the local residents: chatting to the lady selling CDs outside the Iceland supermarket, smiling at a young boy with a duffel bag, moving out of the path of a girl sprinting for the 159 bus, and watching a father lean down to kiss the forehead of his child, just as Mum would do to Lara each and every night when she was a child. Brixton was alive with possibility, life, and color, but it still wasn't telling her anything. It was just another area in London. Where were the African drums playing on each corner? The smell of African food sizzling in a large pot in the middle of Brixton High Street?

She wandered on aimlessly, blending in nicely with the kaleidoscope of colors and cultures walking side by side and getting on with everyday life.

But once again, Lara Reid felt like an alien.

She turned into a side street awash with market stalls and an amazing aroma of spices, fruits, and incense.

That's it; she would buy African food, she thought.

No, Nigerian food. Because Africa was a continent and Nigeria a part of that and she a part of
that.
Lara's stomach swished about pleasurably at this new thought as she stepped into a shop called M & N's Food.

Thanks to the Internet, Lara had been able to save a complete shopping list in the memo pad feature of her phone. So, riffling through a box of gleaming red Scotch bonnet and chili peppers, she felt like a child at a lucky dip game, with probably the same level of excitement as she picked out what she needed. The peppers were like she'd never seen before—all misshapen, their sharp aromas contrasting slightly with those of the fresh tomatoes and sweet potatoes displayed around her (those she recognized without Google's help). She trailed the outline of the longest banana she'd ever seen, searching her head for its correct name.