By Chinedu Ogoke
[Texas] “is no longer a
mere geographical space”— John
O’Sullivan, 1845
‘[I]n
my early youth,’ as a kid, two books I won in a competition brought some
locations in America
so close that I could physically touch those places. The names Colorado and Colombia rang in my ears like
booming sounds at a distance. The abundance of water touching down from great
heights was vivid. Everything could rank with paradise. I traveled freely in my
imagination. Adventure stole my heart and took me away from my shadows.
Years later, as I watched late
night movies, it began to settle in that films I watched were often about Dallas. Texas then occupied a place as an abode of
the unscrupulous oil magnates. I recall a Texaco (The Texas Company) filling
station close to our house. Decades later, when huge oil was discovered in
São Tomé and Principe, there was outrage among some of us over that
country’s links with Texas,
which included sudden daily commercial flights.
I discovered another America in Germany. There, America found a
fantasy land where life all seemed like bowling and filling a giant plastic cup
with Coca-cola at the tap while you enjoyed a discussion. I interacted with
Americans, who were mostly soldiers. Every American was bound to tell me, “You know what, Shinedu, you need to visit Missouri (or Atlanta or Virginia) at some time.”