I cried.

At a bar named HOLLYWOOD in the heart of the city of Shanghai, China. I wept.

I really don’t know how it happened, but when the water works came, It just wouldn’t stop.

I had heard of the stereotypes but never before had I experienced it first hand. it was breathtaking.

I walked past my Kinsmen in the arms of my boyfriend, a caucasian male. As I did, I sighted them. I knew who they were because I could smell the Igbo pride in them from 50 yards away but just  to be sure, I let out a greeting. ‘Ndewo unu o’ is all I had to say to get the confirmation that I needed.

I saw one of them up close, come out of the shadows of his corner as his face muscles tightened in the shock of me speaking his local dialect, he then belted out ‘ewooo’ in what I thought was a silent exclamation of shock, trying to figure out what I was doing in shanghai and why I was having fun with the elite.

It hurt so bad, and the resounding question in my mind was, why only Igbos? Is there a drug ring in the east that no one is aware of?


I was filled with bitterness, anger and spite towards these my brothers draging the name of my tribe and culture in the mud.

They were almost 16 situated outside that club at different places.

they all had their spots , they all dealt differently. Each had his poison of specialty.

They were all drug dealers in China. ALL IGBO! All fully grown, able bodied and employable men. All maybe fathers and husbands to beautiful people at home, all on the streets of shanghai in the night saying ‘Breda, anything you want, I got you’ to all white men they see on the street.

And yet, there are Igbo people like me , who would get offended when people say that the igbo man has lost his ethics and has become a slave to money.


I expect a few Igbo to come at me for this write up but I have never been one to mince words or hide my feelings, this was very dissapointing to witness first hand.

Lets be better. Igbo Kwenu.



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