Chiwetel Ejiofor: He is British if he says he is.

A grown man can and should choose whatever identity he wants. I think so.

Ever since Chiwetel said to Ellen,  'I'm from London', many Nigerians have been enraged. See video.

Chiwetel is Nigerian British. He could decide to identify with or more with any of the two. His parents are Nigerian so he has Nigerian roots, but he was born in London so he is British too, or isn't he? I don't think he has ever out-rightly denied Nigeria in any interview as he acknowledges his parents are from Nigeria. And well, he accepted the role of Odenigbo in Biyi Bandele's Half of a Yellow Sun movie. He was in Nigeria to shoot some scenes, he didn't say no.

 When Tope Folarin (Nigerian-American) won the 2013 Caine Prize, people argued that he wasn't African enough, probably because some Nigerian-Nigerians were shortlisted too. It was like, Elnathan we know, Okparanta we know, Ibrahim we know, Tope, who are you? There could be many answers when it comes to identity.

Yes we all want Chiwetel to sing that he is Nigerian and we are all proud of him and want to identify with him, but Nigeria doesn't have many claims to his success. It's very understandable though, with more than 30 different award nominations from a single movie, 12years a slave, who wouldn't want to claim him? He was raised in London, he schooled in London and he was trained to act in London. His memories of Nigeria could possibly be that of pain and death. His father was killed in a road accident during a trip to Nigeria and Chiwetel was only 11. He wears the scars of this accident on his face and possibly, his heart. Maybe if Nigeria wasn't so corrupt, wasn't so lawless, wasn't so insecure, then Nigerians born abroad would readily and happily identify with us.

Some Nigerian Americans easily identify with Nigeria, but some don't and won't, but we don't know their memories of Nigeria. We don't know if, while growing up, they were made conscious of their Nigerianess. A generation of Nigerians are being raised in America who might never be able to correctly pronounce their own names, or visit home, or proudly say, I'm from Nigeria. It's alarming the number of Nigerians who troop to the United States yearly to deliver their babies, even among the wealthy and influential. Shouldn't the Nigerian citizenship be enough? When Nigeria was listed ineligible for the US diversity visa lottery last year, many Nigerians had their dreams dashed. Should the visa lottery be an ambition? Shouldn't the Nigerian citizenship be enough? In a country where getting a visa out or being born abroad is celebrated and narrated as a testimony, many things are wrong. And we know that, many things are wrong.

Back to Chiwetel. I wanted a picture of just him but I found this good one of him and his girl, hehehe. Yes she's white and Me likey. Not like my approval is needed or anything, but good choice. Shikena, saves him some drama.


Ps. Chiwetel is British if he says he is. At least he didn't change/hasn't changed his name.....yet. Though anglicized, it's still Igbo, we can hold on to that....for now.

Magic made Fire.

Orchids and caramel, tulips and buns;
The flower beds died just before they could bloom;
She ran all the way, there was a yellow sad rose;
What did life say when it whispered to you.

Magic made fire and dust beside rain;
Now look at him laughing, that toothless old shrink;
Tell us a story of nothing and age;
Tell us a story of wrinkles and times;
What did life say when it stood at your door.

One day at a time, don't cower, don't cry;
One life and one song, hear ye, hear ye;
Not all will love you, no, not all is so blessed;
Some closed up at night, couldn't come up again;
Now see when I woke up, and see what I dreamed.

Magic made fire, with strong scenting sands; 
On hurricanes and tides, on dust, snow and rain;
She ran all the way, just to watch it again;
A lily, one dance, one day it will grow;
She ran all the way there was a dying red rose;
What did love say when it whispered to you.


Ps. Life is fun, truth is life and God is life. Happy Valentines, pals**

Superbowl Sunday.

It is sunday night in college station. Everybody...everybody is watching the Superbowl except me. Friends gather in packs to watch the game. America's great game. I'm lost. So I asked thrice today, What exactly is Superbowl. Some tried to explain to me but some just stared at me, like are you serious? It's the biggest blablabla in the whole of America and even the whole of the world, more blablabla. Too bad, nobody knows Superbowl in Nigeria's part of the world. And that's where I'm from. I'm yet to understand why six packed (you could see it through their jerseys), giant tall, heavy muscled men wear husky pads and helmets to play 'football' with their hands. I know there's a quarter back and then there's a tailback but the whistle comes too often and they all fall on each other like massive bergs struggling over a little ball. So then I don't get it. Give me madness and clashing, champions and magic, swiftness and soul, let my senses go running. Win, noWin. Let the coaches cry aloud. Give me something like noise and tears... give me English premiership.

I scroll the internet for superbowl. It's between the Seattle Seahawks and the Denver Broncos. It will be played in New Jersey. Good. I have an interview tomorrow, who knows what they could ask. One day I'll come to love American football. I know that. No, I predict that. You don't know how slowly culture grows on you, and stays with you, without seeking your consent. New friends, new interests, new hobbies, new tomorrows. Living changes like that. Many times.

P.s: They say the underdogs won. You can google who the underdogs are. I didn't.