Leks and the City, Except The City Is Oberlin, Ohio: Issue 5: Hmmm…Maybe Oberlin Doesn’t Suck Ass After All

Lekan A-S

Well, fuck me. Here we are a year later, and GASP, it did indeed get better. Shocking. 

In all seriousness though, this sentiment is not one that I thought I’d hold, let alone share after the HELL that was my freshman year here. Yet today, I find my heart softening at the thought of this place. I called my room “home” last week while in conversation with a friend, and the word “home” did not taste as foreign, as bitter on my tongue as it used to when I spoke about Oberlin. It was in that exact moment that it clicked for me. Wait. Maybe—I didn't hate it? 

       If you’ve read up to here and you’ve never read an essay under this column before, you’re probably thinking “what the fuck is he on about?” And you know what, that’s a pretty valid question. Welcome to Leks and the City! Or welcome back if you happen to have read one of these journal entries I disguise as biweekly essays. I feel like this moment is a great place to provide context, and so I’ll do just that! Last year (also called the year from hell, the year of many “what the fucks???,” the year I hated everything, etcetera) I started this column. I was hungry for a way in which I could document my experiences as a black, African, international student navigating Oberlin and the U.S for the first time. I then proceeded—in what I initially thought was a genius move, to name it “Leks and the City” (it’s a Sex and the City pun, fucking sue me). I chose this name because quaint little Oberlin, Ohio is as far away from NYC as you could POSSIBLY get, but also to hint at my discomfort, my dissatisfaction with this place. It was supposed to be a caustic, tongue-in-cheek reference to how Oberlin just—couldn't compare. To what exactly? I’m unsure. Especially because I can’t stand New York City.

      But yes, that’s the context, my friends! Over the course of my freshman year, I wrote essays dissecting everything from white saviorism, to American hegemony, to homesickness, to love, and anger, and loss. I’m unsure of whether or not to even call those essays, because frankly, those were just my unfiltered thoughts — my guts spilled onto a google doc if you will. That’s kind of the point of this. It’s why you’ve probably read more cuss words in the past few paragraphs than you’ve read in the whole paper thus far. I write—and I do this as purposefully as I can—in the exact same way I would speak to a friend :)

         Okay, now that that’s out of the way, let’s get into the meat of this issue. Last school year—also known to my friends as the year where Lekan would NEVER shut up about how Oberlin was the worst thing to ever happen to him—-was genuinely one of the most difficult times of my entire existence. I struggled with not only adjusting to College, but to a brand new nation. A nation as weird, as fascinating, as important as this one. I struggled with being the only black person in a room for the first time (how fucking surreal), being away from my friends—people who, till today, still have pieces of my heart in their pockets. I struggled with being away from my family, food, music, culture. I struggled with deep-rooted feelings of mediocrity, loneliness, anger. It felt as though living had been placed on the backburner, and all I could do was trudge through the days, the weeks, the months, waiting aimlessly for time to pass. I can wholeheartedly say the times where I felt joy that year—in all of its unadulterated pleasure, its warmth, its brightness, were the times where I was not here. Joy was found eating dinner in Chicago with a friend during Fall Break. It was found during Thanksgiving in Nairobi, sprawled out on the couch, watching as the smoke from my friends’ cigarettes filled the room. I found her in London, in Dallas, in DC, in Philadelphia, in those places, those moments where I was surrounded by love. It was almost as if she made it a point to hide each time I stepped foot on campus. 

       I wasn’t depressed, though. In actuality, there were many moments of laughter, and warmth, and happiness, peppered throughout my first year here. But—that’s not joy. Joy is all consuming. It is as though you are floating, unable to believe that what it is you are experiencing even exists. And so yes, I struggled. I thought of leaving. 

      But then I went home. 

  While I was home, I thought of why I found Oberlin so difficult. And while I will not share the specifics of my epiphany, I realized that many of the reasons I could not stomach this place, in truth, had to do with me. And not Oberlin. And not the people in it. Now, don’t get me wrong, Oberlin is definitely not paradise. It’s er—very, very, VERY far from it. But the reason I found myself suffering (this is a crazy term to use, I know) was because I refused to let myself enjoy it. And so over the Summer, I promised myself that I would. And unsurprisingly, I am. 

      There are many things that I love about this place. I love the people who teach me. The amount of care they show me, their genuine interest in my life, my person. I love how pretty the sunsets are, how stunning Tappan is in the Fall. I love the Bonner Scholars Program and the people who run it, their constant words of encouragement, their support. I love that I can wear anything without fear of harm, I love that I can say anything, do anything, be anything. These things, in and of themselves, are a privilege. And they are privileges I admittedly took for granted last year. I love walking into the Saunders Lounge and seeing it full of people, just—-existing. I love the work that SFP does.  

I don’t know man, there’s just so much to be grateful for. And while, like I’ve said before, it isn't perfect, maybe—maybe it doesn't suck ass after all. Fingers crossed it stays that way :)

Thank you for reading and see you in the next issue, 

Lekan.