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| Somewhere in Between. Lagos, 2012 |
I have been in New York for two days. Just
before arriving here, I got back from a seven- weeks road trip from Nigeria to
Gabon. I was still fresh from the journey, barely 24 hours in between my return
and my take off to New York. I am in this buzzing city now; everyday waking up
to the liveliness of a city that never sleeps. Sometimes I wonder, who are these
people? Everyone to his or her own, paths and streets are packed with people,
using the same space, living the same moment, yet one could be millions of
worlds apart from the other. Running to something, shopping for something,
buying pleasure. Nothing is for free, even giving is not a given. Someone said
to me, “I think we have run through ourselves”, meaning I guess, “I think we
have ran out of ideas”. Ran out of ideas. But that’s not the worse part. We
have run out of reasons for which we are running. Evolution is cool, innovation
encouraged, but when at the detriment of human relationships, when everyday we
get lonelier, yes we get used to loneliness. When everyday we get more afraid,
we get used to fear. And as we pursue happiness, with our heels to the back of our
heads, happiness is just one step ahead.
Who are these people? What do they want? Do
they want something, or are they fuelling the hell they set-up for themselves?
Well all these can be justified by the fact that humans should always be in
constant activity. Yes, constant activity. But activity or de-activity? I think
they are the same but of alternate end. Are
we in activity or de-activity? Yes, we are here to undo ourselves. But the
final result ought to be happiness, and if you are sad, miserable, depressed,
afraid, anxious, bitter, jealous, greedy, gluttonous, war-mongering, malicious
while you are at it then something is just not right. There must be something
to show for all of these toiling – something much more than the self-exertion
to keep up with appearances, something more than a 15 minutes of fame,
something sublime and noble, the prize after the race. Something worth running
for, something we should be running to. So you see, the running is not the
problem. It is not the worse of it all.
And everyday, my tongue loses a taste bud.
My nerves become more taut, tending towards lifelessness – a pre-death, death
by the dose. I know I should be glad, some say I am privileged, last night
someone called me lucky. Yes, I am all of that and more, but I am not luckier
than those who are not writing from the 16th floor of a plush
apartment in Manhattan. I don’t feel that kind of luck. I guess I am lucky to
be here and with all I see, and all I feel, and with all the sheer helplessness
against mass inclinations, I still have a part of me that could ask this
question: Where are we running to? And who is on our heels? To be alive is to
ask questions. Yes, we are question-generating entities, an embodiment of
questions of which the answers fulfills the purpose of our existence. Is it not
by this that we evolve? Dissolve? And the world revolves? In this journey,
those who ask questions will never lose their way.
These are my reflections on the morning of
October 15th 2012, while in New York. These are the ponderings of a Border-being
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