You Lie Mostly About The Things You Are Not Proud Of.

In the bustling heart of London, two Nigerian immigrants, Chinedu and Obi, found themselves seated in a cosy café. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of pastries, creating an atmosphere of comfort that was quite a contrast to the grey skies outside.

Chinedu, sipping his cappuccino, leaned in with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Obi, my friend, see ehn, let’s be honest. Life here in London is quite different from what we told our folks back in Nigeria.”

Obi, his lips curving into a knowing smile, replied, “Oh, you mean like when we told them we were living in mansions, driving luxury cars, and dining with the Queen?”

Chinedu chuckled, “Exactly! And that I was working as a ‘Financial Consultant’ when, in reality, I was washing dishes in a restaurant.”

Obi’s laughter filled the café. “Ah, my friend, we’ve all told our fair share of ‘London stories’ back home. But you know, you lie mostly about things you are not proud of.”

Chinedu nodded in agreement. “True, true. I mean, we didn’t want our families to worry about us. So, we painted these grand pictures of our lives in Europe.”

Obi leaned back, lost in thought for a moment. “Remember when I told them I was living in a ‘penthouse apartment’ overlooking the Thames?”

Chinedu laughed heartily. “Nna ehn! You dey lie that year sha. Dem suppose to add “LIEnus” to your name. Obi “LIEnus” Mbaka. Meanwhile, the truth was you were in a cramped flat with five other roommates, and the ‘Thames view’ was just a tiny window overlooking a brick wall.”

Obi grinned. “And you, my friend, you once claimed to be an ‘internationally renowned chef’ while you were flipping burgers.”

Chinedu raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I did become renowned in that small corner of London!”

The two friends laughed again, the weight of their confessions lifting. Chinedu then took a more serious tone. “But you know ehn, Obi, I think we lied not just to protect our families but also to preserve our pride. We didn’t want to admit that we struggled, that life in a foreign land could be tough.”

Obi nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. We wanted to save face. But you know, it’s funny how we’d rather tell grand lies than admit to our humble beginnings.”

Chinedu sighed. “It’s a cultural thing jare. Back home, we’re taught to always present our best selves, to show strength and success even in the face of adversity.”

Obi agreed, “Yes, we’re raised to believe that admitting weakness is a sign of failure.”

Their conversation continued, meandering through tales of London’s unpredictable weather, the challenges of adapting to a new culture, their white girls’ experiences, the years they used to keep an Afro because they couldn’t afford £30 for haircuts, and the unique experiences of being Nigerian immigrants in Europe.

As they sat there, sharing their stories and truths, they realized that the most beautiful thing about their friendship was the acceptance of imperfections. They had learned that honesty, even about the less glamorous aspects of their lives, was what had truly bonded them together.

So, in that quaint London café, Chinedu and Obi laughed and chatted, relishing the irony that sometimes the lies we tell are born from a desire to protect our pride, yet it is the truth that ultimately sets us free. As they walked out into the grey London streets, they carried with them the warmth of camaraderie and the wisdom that honesty, even about the smallest things, was the foundation of their enduring friendship.

Life is definitely better for them now. They both drive Mercedes Benz cars which is the unspoken validation for being a successful Naija boy abroad. They can now shop comfortably from Zara and spend £150+ on original Nike shoes. The Prada on Chinedu’s shoes is spelt correctly now, not the “Prado” one he once bought from the flea market. Now they don’t have to lie to their people back home about their lives abroad. There is nothing to be ashamed of anymore. Now they are truly “Big Boys” in London!