When I came to England from Nigeria for the last time, I remember putting together a collection of different things, a little box of memories. Bizarrely not of things from Africa but of holidays and events that had happened since. Initially I had put together things like a compass, protractor, cellotape, paper pencil and a few other items together in that small wooded box and told my Mother I was going back. She told me I was better doing some studies and getting a job abroad so I changed my mind. However, that box soon became a repository for memories, museum and bus tickets, a feather I had found, shells from the beach and the likes. Perhaps I felt the need to collect them in case once again I was to lose my past once again.
Sadly after my move I had so little to remind me of my childhood abroad, all that remains are the pictures my father took, or those taken by others and put onto facebook. No wonder my memories of my childhood are gradually fading.
my favorite is
moonroof vs sunroof in a car.
spelling is just a minefield!
That’s freaky: I remember my collection of memorablia, and none of it was African or Asian souvenirs. It was all made up of mundane things like tickets, pencils, books, letters, feathers, etc. You’re right – it was like a past I was trying desperately to hold on to.