There’s a certain weight that comes with being an immigrant, especially when conversations turn to where you’re from. It’s the kind of weight that makes you pause before answering, carefully choosing your words. How do you talk about your country’s flaws without sounding disloyal? How do you stay honest without feeling like you’re betraying your roots?
These questions recently came to mind after reading comments by Kemi Badenoch, the leader of the UK’s Conservative Party, and Nigerian musician Davido. Kemi spoke about her childhood in Nigeria, describing power outages, unreliable infrastructure, and insecurity. Her words sparked outrage, with some accusing her of “demarketing” Nigeria for political gain. Similarly, Davido faced backlash after calling Nigeria “a mess,” with critics saying he was airing dirty laundry on a global stage.
It made me think about my own experience. As an immigrant in Germany, I’ve often been asked questions like, What’s Nigeria like? Why are so many leaving? Answering isn’t always easy. Sure, I could talk about corruption, poor governance, or economic challenges. But that’s not the full story. Nigeria is also home to resilient people, vibrant cultures, and traditions I cherish deeply.
A Moment That Stuck With Me
One conversation stands out in particular. I was chatting with someone from Spain about culture and history, and somehow, I ended up explaining a painful chapter from Nigeria’s past: the practice of killing twins in some communities long ago. I shared how Mary Slessor, a Scottish missionary, helped end the practice, one of the rare positive outcomes of colonialism.
Her face shifted to disbelief. “Really? They did that?” she asked, her voice filled with shock. In that moment, guilt washed over me. Why had I shared this? Had I just reinforced stereotypes of Africa as primitive? I quickly added, “It was a cultural belief at the time, but traditions evolve.”
Even after the conversation ended, the guilt lingered. Had I done a disservice to my country by bringing this up? Or was it necessary to acknowledge the past, however uncomfortable, to show how far we’ve come?
The truth is, no country is perfect. The UK, Germany, Spain… every nation has its struggles. Talking about corruption or poor governance can reinforce stereotypes, but pretending those issues don’t exist doesn’t help foster meaningful conversations about progress.
Reflecting on Kemi, Davido, and my own experiences, I’ve realized that talking about home is a delicate balancing act. It’s okay to point out problems if the goal is to spark change. It’s okay to share the difficult parts of history if we also celebrate resilience and progress.
In the end, no single story can capture the complexity of a place, whether it’s Nigeria or anywhere else. But if we tell our stories honestly, with respect and the intent to educate, we’re not tearing our roots down; we’re honouring them.
