I was walking through a market abroad when I saw tomatoes arranged too neatly. The place was clean, calm, and quiet. Efficient.
And suddenly, I missed chaos.
I missed Nigerian markets where bargaining is performance. Where the seller calls you “my customer” after two minutes. Where the air smells like pepper, onions, sweat, and possibility.
It wasn’t that the foreign market was bad. It was just missing something: human noise.
That day, I realized homesickness can be triggered by the most ordinary thing. A smell. A sound. A familiar disorder.
Later, I found an African market area. The energy was closer. People talked louder. Someone was arguing about price. I smiled like an idiot.
It’s funny how we complain about Nigeria’s chaos while we’re there, then miss it when we leave. Maybe the problem isn’t the chaos itself—it’s that we never learned how to appreciate what it gives: connection.
Now, whenever I return home, I don’t rush past markets anymore. I slow down and take it in. Because one day, I’ll miss it again.
