I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry. I know I dropped the ball, and giving excuses won’t work. I initially planned on writing during my brief layover at Charles De Gaulle Airport but that didn’t happen. Then I arrived at home and the euphoria and then food comas that followed two days in a row kept me from opening my laptop at night. Thankfully today, I controlled my eating even though Chef Fregz tempted me, and hot Moin Moin was waiting for me when I got home at night. So, I apologize for being four days behind.

This trip has been an intriguing one. In the midst of all the floating variables concerning my visa renewal that still niggle at the back of my mind, I have been very happy to be back home. In the past 3 years, I have lived in several places, of these, I have thought of only three as actually being home: Northwood V, Glencoe (even though I was a squatter. Shout out to the bro and Jake!!!), and now Nob Hill. While I thoroughly enjoyed living in the first two, and currently enjoy living in the third, none of them evoke the kind of feelings I get when I walk into Chief T.K. Sawyerr’s residence on Adeniyi Jones. Even with the things I don’t like about it, no other place gives me the total sense of home that this place does.

In the past two plus days since I’ve been home I’ve been able to walk/be driven around the neighborhood I grew up in. Maybe it’s because of all the things I went through since the last time I was home in Dec 2014/Jan 2015, or the fact that one of my childhood (and current) best friends is getting married in a few days, I find I’m more grateful this time around. I’m also more aware of how much has changed since this place was the only place I really called home.

Tonight, while running an errand for one of my several “second mums”, I decided to take the long route walking through the neighborhood, and I was simply flooded with memories and “feels”. As I shouted out greetings to the security guards and store owners who were still there (Hamza is an institution in Wemabod Estate), I looked at buildings and saw how much/little they had changed over the years. I thought about the people who had lived in those houses and the relationships (or lack thereof) I had with them. I walked past the house I spent the first 20 years of my life, and marveled at how much it, and the houses around it, had changed since we moved 10 years ago. I pictured all of us neighborhood kids playing soccer on the streets, and racing each other in track and on bikes, and I couldn’t help but be thankful for the fact that I had a really dope childhood.

I  realize that nostalgia is painting off the ugly parts of the past and recycling it for more than it’s worth (HUGE shout out to Baz Lurhman’s Everybody’s Free [to Wear Sunscreen]; theme song for this post and most of the ones to follow this week), but I couldn’t stop myself from reveling in it. Ain’t nothing wrong with taking the trip down memory lane from time to time, helps make you more appreciative.

So, today, I’m thankful for my hood: for the privilege growing up in sort an environment was; for the friends I had; for the neighbors; for the good and bad memories; for it’s role in building the man that I am today.

#AdeniyiJones #Wemabod #Ikeja

Featured Image Source: www.thehipsterette.com.au

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