On my last night in Lomé, I went out for dinner with Ilhem. We sat at a French restaurant near her beautiful home — ate little plates of food and shared the effort of an open conversation. I felt lucky.
It’s not always clear which of our choices will be good and which will be regretful. It’s a big concern of mine. For a long time, my Twitter (& IG) bio read “either making a huge mistake or the best decision of my life.” It felt the most accurate description of my life. This was five years ago when I was fresh out of university and my biggest concern was committing to a career path. My two main interests fought for attention: writing and programming. I might become an author of some kind or I might work in technology. Today, I do neither.
I arrived at Ilhem’s home on Tuesday, the 16th of December ’24. I only booked it two days earlier on Sunday evening. On Sunday, I travelled from Lagos to Cotonou on a bus with 9 strangers.
Have I mentioned that I like travelling? The process of it. I enjoy all the things that people hate. I like getting to the airport early and waiting for my flight. I like sitting in the discomfort of turbulence as I convince myself of safety with statistics. Even road travel, which I dread for how badly it treats my body, even that I like. I like the open roads and their endlessness. I like all the time it affords me; time to think, listen to podcasts and mentally write the beginning of essays. I also like the brief encounters of travel: the person I met at the airport queue in Ghana and indefinitely borrowed my spare padlock to; the old woman who recognised a face at the Benin border she first saw 30 years ago; the couple on the bus from Lagos who appeared to be relocating; and their baby who would not stop crying. I do like travel.
At the beginning of ‘24’, I participated (with some friends and colleagues) in an exercise of goal setting for the year. One of my goals was to ‘travel more… somehow.’ It felt so wishful — so hopeful. The year before, I travelled out of Nigeria three times and visited 2 new countries. I lived (if you will permit I call it that) in Paris for 2 months. I was on the road for a quarter of the year not including my three reporting trips within Nigeria. ’23 was the year to beat as far as my travel ambitions went and I could not envision the possibility of me travelling more. But I wished to.
In February, I visited Kenya for the first time and spoke to a small audience about a podcast episode I had helped make. It was my first proper speaking engagement and I did it with the podcast team I would go on to work with for most of ‘24.
In Kenya, I learnt what working with people who cared for each other looked like, at least the beginnings of it. A team of 4 of us made our presentation about documentary storytelling at the Africa Media Festival. A team of 5 of us helped put it together. A team of 7 helped make it run smoothly. And my friend, Tade, was smiling in the audience.
I have been collaborating with Radio Workshop for the past year and it’s been good for me. It’s already taught me about two things, care and time. And it continues to teach me other things. It has also afforded me something I have needed for a long while, ease. I had been uncomfortable for so long, juggling between worries, and in need of space — to be less anxious - less scared of the future. 2024 offered me that.
In ’24, I started living alone. It was bittersweet — sad because yet another close friend had moved away, widening the hole of physical community in my heart. But also, it was something good because I felt capable of doing it. I could afford to live alone. I paid rent by myself. My parents helped me get a car that I am now capable of maintaining by myself (and oh does it call for maintenance.) I pay for groceries every month and a barrage of other administrative life costs. When things in my house break, I fix them, sometimes immediately. I bought a laptop, a MacBook no less.
It’s the little things that always do it for me. Because isn’t life just a summation of this? Isn’t adulthood just buying groceries every time you run out of eggs? And isn’t it all so difficult and endless? And aren’t I here, still doing it, despite its difficulty and endlessness?
Aren’t I here, persevering?
It’s not easy. So the search for ease is a lofty one for me.
The downside of prioritising ease was the loss of ambition. I did not try so hard this year. Not to be conflated with ‘did not work hard,’ because I possibly worked my hardest. I don’t think I have listened to more recordings, interviewed more people and spent more editing hours in any other year of my life. At the same time, I didn’t go seeking this year. And without ambition, travel opportunities are not in surplus. So after February, I just didn’t have any other reason to travel.
Except for One, I hate Lagos in December.
Some people know this of December in Lagos, the city is its most alive self with people, parties and activities. It is also its most toxic self: expensive, crowded and gridlocked. It’s my least favourite time of the year to be in the city I love and hate so much. It’s been a dream of mine to travel away in December. In ’24, I could, for the first time in my life, afford to do that.
On December 16th, one day after closing work for the year at RW, I locked my laptop up in my study, packed a backpack and began a gradual two week crawl along the West African coast to Ghana. I made minimal plans ahead of time. My sisters would be joining me in Accra for a week so our accommodation and flight back to Nigeria were booked a month earlier. Everything else I played by the ear.
This trip was my first time visiting Benin, Togo and Ghana. Along with my trip to Kenya, this would be the year I travelled to the most number of new countries. In some way, satisfying my goal to travel more this year.
The week before I travelled, I found out some of my friends had the same idea but unlike me had made proper plans including hiring a driver to take them to Ghana. I agreed to meet them in Benin and tag along for border crossings.
Three days before my trip, I finally booked a seat on a bus to Cotonou, the last one. The night before my trip, at 2 am (call time was 6), I booked a bed and breakfast in Cotonou and a hotel in Grand Popo where I’d catch up with my friends for the trip to Togo on Tuesday. On Sunday evening, after a 6-hour drive from Lagos and my first laptop-free day in two years, I booked a room in Ilhem’s home for the Togo leg of my trip. Let me tell you about that choice.
I have never travelled on my dime or for the enjoyment of it(travel) before. I’ve been lucky in my life. Most of my travel opportunities have been for work. Last year, I had a residency in Paris, a conference in Laval and another in Greece. I did not have to pay for any of those trips. My trip to Kenya was also work-sponsored. I have been lucky enough to travel in meaningful ways despite not being able to afford it. I have never spent money this way: ‘because I have it and I want to.’ So the choice of a place to stay was informed by the question of worth, is it worth it, am I worth it? I did not consider this trip a vacation and had no interest to, like my friends, pay for beachfront resorts. I wanted from this, an opportunity to see a different life, the life of others and a future life for me. I had three options for accommodation in Togo, I could join my friends in the hotel by the beach, a nice place with lovely rooms and direct beach access, there was a bed and breakfast option as well and then there was a room in Ilhem’s home on Airbnb. I obsessed over the decision because it’s not always clear which of our choices will be good and which will be regretful.
On Tuesday afternoon, I arrived in Lome and in a swanky hotel called Petit Brussels. It had a pretty courtyard, cute rooms with bathtubs (oh I love a good bathtub), and balconies that opened directly to the beach. Then I carried my backpack (& A2 French) and navigated my way to Ilhem’s home where I was greeted by three dogs, two cats and a lush garden.
Later that evening, her sister came around and we three chatted for two hours about life, food and travel. And just before bed, I texted my friend Chidi.
“Really happy with my airbnb”
I journaled for the entire first week of my trip; about the feeling of stillness, about road trips and my longing for more, about the sun and coffee and about the life I crave for myself.
Many people want softness in life. Maybe you know the phrase ‘soft life.’ Many of us would like the good things money can afford us — the best possible things money can buy — all of them. I have always considered myself contrarian in this matter. I don’t want wealth in the ways many people do. I want to live an interesting life and in place of softness, I want a soulful life. It is true that money is essential for any kind of life worthy of wanting. But there’s this specific way I want the life that surrounds me to not only be evidence of money but also evidence of care.
My time in Togo helped articulate this. Ilhem and her home bore the evidence of care.
Each year improves my ability to dream lives for myself. 2024 was no exception.
