Twelve years ago my parents were fortuitous enough to bring me and my sister along on their trip to their home in Lagos, Nigeria. I do not remember much, for I was too young to bear in mind the miniscule details. I am still able to recall the strenuous-yet-comfy sixteen hour airplane ride, the faintly dusted pathways and roads, the warm smiles of the denizens, the cumbersome feeling of sun rays beaming incessantly on my bare skin, and a few of the friends with whom I’ve shared laughs.

Although I remember little, I will always appreciate the value of the trip as well as the overall purpose. I was able to see a lot of family members and old family friends. I met my grandmother for the first time too. I was able to get a sense of what my parents’ lives were like prior to their journey to America. Every time I ponder about that dear trip, I always realize how much I value my heritage and culture. The trip has lodged a strong, effervescent feeling of Nigerian pride into my soul. I would love to mollify my budding nostalgia by revisiting Lagos, Nigeria some time in the future.