I’m sorry. This title is sheer clickbait. If you’re here because you love Boy George, I’m so sorry to disappoint you. I myself am disappointed and am leaving immediately.
But first, let me just say what I think about reincarnation, which is the true, less-gripping reason we are gathered here today. (I know. Karma Chameleon. Reincarnation. Apples and orange paint.)
Now, I’m Nigerian. In Nigeria, I’m also Igbo. This means that down to my smallest subset, I’m programmed to be superstitious. My people believe almost everything – that pythons are sacred, that masquerades are masked spirits which climb out of anthills (sounds bloody uncomfortable, I know), that eating snails while pregnant will make your child have copious amounts of saliva. We also really, really believe in reincarnation.
If, say, a woman dies today and one week her daughter-in-law gives birth to a girl who only vaguely resembles the late woman, it goes without saying that Woman 1 is back to this wicked world, live in living color. The baby girl has no choice in the matter; her name is Nnenna (which means grandmother, literally). You find that people begin to exaggerate certain similarities because they’ve been told that they act like some dead relative, not necessarily despite it.
Personally, I don’t believe in any of this. I believe that people can uncannily look and act like someone long gone, but that’s the end of it. I mean, genetics, anyone? As far as I’m concerned, when someone dies, that’s it. One person, one soul. No recycling. No second missionary journey to the land of Google and Pizza.
Now, if only I could explain away the old-lady cackle in my head as I’m writing this…
amandarylee's Blog 