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The Life of A Second-Generation Nigerian American
Everyone in the Community, a tight-knit group of Nigerian diaspora located in the United States, wants to see me get married. To them, marriage and progeny define an existence. Oftentimes, I can hold the same belief, though I could do without the constant reminders.
At the behest of my mother, uncles, cousins, et cetera, I have courted a stream of potential romantic prospects, with none of the matches yielding fruitful connections. Nevertheless, I do not lament these couplings being torn asunder, for I am almost forty-seven years old, finally confident in who I am and what I want out of my life. The women also know what they want in a partner, and I do not blame them for rejecting me, as we are too old to be wasting our time.
The community remains undaunted as they continue to initiate searches for available partners. This is especially true of my Cousin Carson, the incandescent, persistent warrior, and dutiful acolyte of Jesus Christ. According to Carson, the Almighty God has gifted him with a beautiful wife and healthy child, ensuring the continuation of his biological line. He wants the same thing for me and insists that there is a plan, one that is a byproduct of the mystical benevolent force.
As I searched for the perfect Isiagu attire at the local African clothing store one afternoon, my cell phone…
