“Wanted, British host family, to take in three Nigerian children for the summer.”
In the late 1980s, my parents did something that, looking back, felt like a scene out of a classic novel. They placed an ad in a British newspaper requesting a host family to take in three Nigerian children for two months of the summer. Richard Taylor, a British family friend, acted as our “scout,” vetting and interviewing applicants with the scrutiny of a high-stakes recruiter. I remember the shortlist came down to two families. The first family lived on a sprawling farm and hosted a bunch of kids for the summer. To my young mind, they looked like a riot; mud, animals, and endless games. They were my first choice, hands down.
But, as parents often do, mine had a different vision. They chose a reverend’s family with four children living in a vicarage in West Byfleet, Surrey. They were stable Christians who would instil good values. So, in July 1981, my brother, my sister, and I packed our bags and headed to live with Uncle John, Aunty Jane, Mark, David, Faith, and Ruth.
We did this for three consecutive summers. Those days were golden. They shaped part of how I saw the world, spoke, and understood people who didn’t look like me.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. This sounds like some elitist, upper-class flex. But let me stop you right there. When this was happening, my dad was still building his career. He only had one goal: he wanted his children to see. He wanted us to know that the world was bigger than our backyard, bigger than our neighbourhood, and certainly bigger than the four walls of our home.
Still, you don’t need a visa to give your child the gift of wonder. While those summers in Surrey were formative, some of my most vivid memories happened right here on Nigerian soil.
I remember when Abuja was just becoming the capital. It was a city full of promise. My father decided we were going to see it and he piled us into the car, and we went on a grand Nigerian road trip.
We had an amazing journey during which we stopped at Ilorin and at Jebba. As we travelled, we watched the landscape shift and change. We saw the Kainji Dam and marvelled at its sheer scale. Then we went to Minna, where he took us to the very spot where his mother used to trade. He was showing us his roots while pointing towards the future.
We saw Nigeria. Ate roadside snacks and felt the pulse of its different regions.
The Screens vs Scenery Dilemna
I’ll be the first to admit that things are different now. I read Nigerian news, and I feel that same pang of sadness you do. The insecurity makes those impulsive road trips across the North feel like a distant dream. I see Gen-Z influencers posting vlogs of beautiful, sweeping shots of Northern Nigeria; the colours, the architecture, the people, and I feel a deep nostalgia. It fires up my imagination, but it also hurts because I know many of us feel we can’t just pack up and go anymore.
Our zoos have dwindled. Our parks aren’t what they used to be. It’s easy to feel defeated and say, “Well, since it’s not safe to travel, I’ll just give them the iPad.” But we cannot let the screen become their only window.
When a child stares at a screen, the world is served to them pre-chewed. The imagination is passive. But when a child stares at a piece of art, or a dusty artefact in a museum, or even a strange tree in a local park, they have to think. They have to wonder, “Why is it like that? Who made this? What was life like before me?”
If we can’t travel impulsively, we must explore intentionally. We live in a country bursting with culture, even within our own cities.
Why Experience Matters More Than Comfort
Recently, I came across a presentation by Dr. Jared Cooney Horvath, a cognitive neuroscientist. He pointed out a terrifying fact. For the first time in modern history, the current generation is less cognitively capable than their parents. Despite more schooling, their attention, memory, and even general IQ are dropping.
Why? Because we have traded human experience for screens. Dr. Horvath explained that we evolved biologically to learn from other human beings and real-world interaction. When we put a screen in front of a child, we are essentially “bypassing” their biology. We are teaching them to skim life rather than understand it.
We are raising a generation that is “connected” to everything but “touched” by nothing. They know the latest YouTube trends, but do they know the smell of the earth after it rains? Do they know the silence of a gallery? Do they know the story of their own grandparents’ trade?
Whether it was Surrey or a road trip to Abuja, my parents’ goal was to broaden our worldview. To expand our horizon beyond what we could see and experience in our normal, daily lives. Once a child’s mind has been stretched by a new sight, a new culture, or a new story, it can never shrink back to its original size.
So, I’m challenging you. This weekend, put the tablets on the high shelf. Forget the cartoons for a few hours.
- Take them to an art gallery around you.
- Find a safe botanical garden.
- Sit them down with a book that takes place in a country they can’t spell yet.
- Tell them the story of where you are from, and if possible, show them.
Let them see. Please, let them imagine. Let them live.
I will not trade the beautiful experience I had at the vicarage in Surrey or the road trips across Nigeria for anything else.
Let’s give our children that same chance. Give them the world.
