Our earliest childhood memories, often episodic, are one of our most intimate experiences. Scientists believe that these can start from as little as 3 years old. After the age of 5 these memories become elusive. There is a mechanism behind the cognitive process that retrieves these abandoned memories or temporary cases of amnesia. A journey back to where it all began can often be painful, beautiful or enlightening or perhaps a combination of all three. There is a very faint line between our repressed memories and those that we may never remember. According to Freud, infantile amnesia ‘veils our earliest youth from us and makes us strangers to it’. Restoring these memories brings a purpose - We can use this as a way of learning more about our family background and about ourselves as an individual.
Cultural differences may offer an explanation as to why some memories are more vivid in our mind than others and why others remember more from their childhood. Certain experiences in our adulthood often trigger the re-possession of the earliest childhood memory. We sometimes need to attach to the initial relationship we once had with the world.
Cultural differences may offer an explanation as to why some memories are more vivid in our mind than others and why others remember more from their childhood. Certain experiences in our adulthood often trigger the re-possession of the earliest childhood memory. We sometimes need to attach to the initial relationship we once had with the world.
My earliest childhood memory is when I accompanied my mother to Lagos, Nigeria in 1987. I was 4 years old. I was too young to remain in London with my Father and my two older sisters.
I recall eating barbecued corn on the cob from the street sellers who were surrounded by foggy smoke.
Walking through the busy market streets, I start a rhythmic skip, dancing to the colourful sounds of the people shouting and laughing.
Frightened by the giant snails, the most desirable would be sold and eaten that same evening, seasoned and then found swimming in a tantalising spicy stew with rice and fried plantain.
The taste from eating raw plantain in a tree house is still delectable. Summer is youthful and unfamiliar surroundings are comforting. Soon, it will feel like home again.
My Mother bought me two toffee sweets wrapped in gold and pink wrapping before we drove to visit my cousins. I put the sweets in my pocket resisting temptation in what felt like the longest car journey.
When we arrived at my cousins house, using my small teeth, I divided the sweets into four. This broke the ice.
Their strong Nigerian accent was mesmerising, almost like poetry. I wanted to speak just like them and play with them all day long. They later emigrated to Canada after winning the green card lottery.
My Grandmother was more beautiful than I had imagined. She wore traditional attire sitting on a stool outside and under the burning orange sun. Stirring Eba in a large pot, I noticed that she was bare footed. I asked my Mother if I can remove my sandals and she replied with a firm 'No!'. But my Grandmother told my Mother to let me and so she does.
Frightened by the giant snails, the most desirable would be sold and eaten that same evening, seasoned and then found swimming in a tantalising spicy stew with rice and fried plantain.
The taste from eating raw plantain in a tree house is still delectable. Summer is youthful and unfamiliar surroundings are comforting. Soon, it will feel like home again.
My Mother bought me two toffee sweets wrapped in gold and pink wrapping before we drove to visit my cousins. I put the sweets in my pocket resisting temptation in what felt like the longest car journey.
When we arrived at my cousins house, using my small teeth, I divided the sweets into four. This broke the ice.
Their strong Nigerian accent was mesmerising, almost like poetry. I wanted to speak just like them and play with them all day long. They later emigrated to Canada after winning the green card lottery.
My Grandmother was more beautiful than I had imagined. She wore traditional attire sitting on a stool outside and under the burning orange sun. Stirring Eba in a large pot, I noticed that she was bare footed. I asked my Mother if I can remove my sandals and she replied with a firm 'No!'. But my Grandmother told my Mother to let me and so she does.
I recall running around the compound in excitement as my feet absorb the warmth of the foreign land, my body jerking like a ritual dance to the drumming of my Grandmother stirring Eba with a large wooden spoon. The mosquitoes also join me in my dancing, hovering over the large pot of food. I wondered, 'who is this woman my Mother must obey?'
The past holds us captive when me miss the things that have changed. This was the last time that I saw my Grandmother. The woman who abandoned my Mother as as a child is at the forefront of my earliest childhood memory.
These are some of my most beautiful memories.
The past holds us captive when me miss the things that have changed. This was the last time that I saw my Grandmother. The woman who abandoned my Mother as as a child is at the forefront of my earliest childhood memory.
These are some of my most beautiful memories.
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