Member-only story
“The place in which i’ll fit, will not exist until I make it.” — James Baldwin
On the 15th of April 1998, my dad died in Nigeria. Dad was about eighty years old at the time, and I was twenty two.
My dad emigrated to London, England from his home and birthplace village of Orogun, Delta State in Nigeria — in the 1960’s. Dads name was James, I’ve always liked the name James — despite my difficult relationship with the man bearing it. When my eldest son was born in St Thomas’s hospital in Westminster, London ten years later — I gave him my dads name with a slight twist. I named him Joshua-James. Sometimes, I think about that decision, I don’t regret it at all — I just wonder what really lay beneath that choice. Perhaps, I like the name James more than I despised my dad, or maybe in the end — despite our disconnect, I still loved my dad more than I cared to admit. My two sons are the loves of my life, our relationships bear no resemblance to mine and my dads. My sons, are my dads seventeenth and nineteenth grandchildren. They never met their granddad.
On the 7th of December 2006, my mum died in London. Mum was fifty eight at the time, and I was thirty.
My mum emigrated to London, England from her home and birthplace village of Ekakpamre, Ughelli, Delta State…
