My Dearest Grandfather: A Piece on Ageing
My grandfather sits straight across from me at the dining table and for the first time I understand that this is a man who has lived more experiences than I possibly, currently imagine. He is a smiling man, he is happy to be here with me on this table, happy to be in my care (at least, I hope that he is). He quietly devours his food and I imagine him in different stages of his life. I see him as a child, ever so energetic, running around half-naked with his friends on the sandy village floor. At this time, our country does not even have independence from the British. How did that shape his perception of himself and his fellow Nigerians? When he saw a white man, did he feel inferior? Angry? Was it originally the first as a child, before becoming the latter through disillusionment? I imagine him as a blushing teenager, shy from the uncomfortable blossoming buds of a first love. I amuse myself with the idea of him loving his fellow boy; I depress myself with the image of him harassing
