The Anxious Twenties.
Photo by Nini Mastrioli on Unsplash.
Take 1: I've been (in) twenty for four years now. And when one has been in a place for long enough, one begins to think that they understand the outlay. One knows where the shops are, the lungus (lonely sidewalks) that leads one to the main road, and the road to take when one doesn't want to talk to people. At least that's how it works with real places.
Take 2: There's a money place everywhere. But apparently the twenties were built differently at different places of course, especially if one was born in a place like Nigeria. It's a blur; we're still thinking of what we want to be when we grow up, or if betting is a quicker way to get money than Tapswap is, or how to start up a business and post it on WhatsApp so everybody knows what's up.
Take 3: And there's the dream place. We don't often go there anymore. But there was a time when we went there, when we were sure of who we wanted to be. The times when tooth fairies and Madam Kos-kos were our biggest treasures and terrors. Times when our parents lifted us high above their heads and we assumed we were above the world. How wrong we were; we've come to see. And now we wonder if it was a sin to dream. We're not sure if anger at our parents is the way forward, but now one screams at the other for being on the phone too long and the other thinks they're cared for too little.
Take 4: Twenty is a blurry place. And the Twenty’s inhabitants are anxious people. So we call ourselves the twenties.
Take 5: Then there's the Love place. Probably the biggest and blurriest. We wake up everyday unsure, of whether God and the people we love will still love us if they know the things we've done. The things we're doing. And it was way worse than stealing meat from the pot, or sneaking to the parlour past curfew time.
Take 6: I've been twenty for four years. I believe that's long enough to get a grip on the twenties. Now I'm not old enough to run for the President of the twenties tribe, but I think I stand just fine enough where I am to speak for both sides; the ones who just came through the door, and the ones dusting their feet and preparing (or not preparing) for thirties.
Take 7: We're in our twenties, each of us somewhere in Nigeria or somewhere around the world. But in Nigeria, we usually start our conversations with strangers by apologising. We're unsure if it's because it's a disturbance, or if we're apologising for the things that aren't right with our country. We live in “the” twenties. We say ‘the’ because “the” doesn't belong to us. If it did, that would mean we wouldn't want to loose it. And even if we didn't, somebody or something would want to snatch it away.
Take 8: This is not the New York Times. At least not yet. I've been told I walk too fast, that perhaps I have outrun my youth and my grey ages are leaning back into me. Maybe your the twenties are clear enough, I hope they are. Maybe your voice will guide the rest of us too.
Take 9: It's just a picture. A place. It's not New York. But it's definitely a place. What if the twenties was a place? And it's just as blurry as this picture.
Blurred for context.
