God's America.

Loveth's California.

I cannot easily tell, by looks alone, who is African American and who is African. Black is a wide range of differing identities you know..

So when she came up to me, all chatty and cheery, admiring my weave, and asking where I bought it, I didn't at first know she was Nigerian. She started out in a fast flowing American accent. And I replied likewise, in a matching American accent..

Down the line, when we said our names to each other, we both had that pleasantly surprised expression on our faces, which broke into broad smiles, before we laughed it out, and immediately switched back to home accents. You are my sister, you know, you are my sister..

Kedu? Baoni?

We talk about Nigeria, and many other things. One news after the other. Did you hear about the recent bombings? Which one, the one in Kano or Nyanya? No, Jos. Did you see the pictures?  How many people died this time? The missing children from Chibok? Oh, the stolen children? What about the collapsed building in Lagos? The fire incident somewhere on the island? There was another last night. The child that was raped by the pastor? The man who murdered his girlfriend? The man who strangled his wife? The ritualist caught in Ibadan? No, another was caught in Ijebu, with eight human skulls. Eight..Jesus! Whose skulls? I don't know. The grave thieves? The flying witches? The one in the gutter or the one in the van? Why are the witches always falling? I don't know, maybe hunger? I think all crafts should be allowed to fly in peace. We laugh, then stop. What about that Igbo man who shot his wife in Houston? Coward-man, he would have shot himself first. Why are we bad news everywhere? Why are we bad people..

We should pray. We should pray, everyday, for Nigeria. Pray? Yes, we should fast too. Well you know, we've been praying a long time. We've been praying a long long time. There are camps and churches? There are prophecies and deliverances. And things are worse. The demons have not all been cast out. Maybe there are many of them. So many prayers, so much evil, dwelling together, siamesed. There won't be no magic for us, this is our mess to fix..

Do you think we should break up? It's not my thinking to do. Do you think we would break up? Do you think that maybe, a breakup is that magical solution to our misery and contempt for one another? How many peaceful parts shall we break into? Two? Six? Thirty-six? Shall we invite the west to chaperone the break up, as they did the joining hundred years ago? Shall we? I don't know, I don't know. I'm afraid, I don't want war. But we are already at war. Tell me, what could be worse than this? Don't you see, this is war..

I would be going back in summer. Lagos is safe? Not really - no bombs, but there are many daytime robbers now. They snatch phones and wallets in seconds. They carry guns and death. They break glasses while the cops watch. They tour streets, unmasked. Mother told me, but Mother needs me. Be careful, sister, be careful..

 A dark gloom of uncertainty hovered over us, clouding our thoughts of home. We mourned silently, mourning a nation in ruin. At that moment, the future of a country once great, once beloved, seemed broken. It was grieving, so broken, far and in danger. Slowly we walked along the green trees lining southwest parkway, the well mowed lawns, breathing in the beautiful parts of God's world, summer's heat, God's America, sighing that our home country may never be like this- peaceful, organized- healthy dogs, pattering cats, afraid that if by tomorrow's tomorrow it becomes so, we may never be there to see it..

Above us, fifty stars shone on a red blue flag.



P.S. picture: a view of downtown California by Loveth Nwozor.