Buckets, dreams and sparks
All of my intrusive thoughts in one piece? yes, it's chaotic
For a long time, I’ve wondered when it’ll be perfect and how to talk about this.
I attended a boarding school and honestly, I don’t feel like I had it easy. Living conditions weren’t that great. Not too bad either. If I were to find the perfect words, I’d say adventurous, survivable.
Okay, living conditions were adventurous, survivable…How does that sound? Not sure? Well, that was it. For someone who has always learnt that you may have it bad but a lot of people have it worse, I don’t know if I’ll ever get the courage to say how bad things really are….
I don’t know if I’m efficiently conveying the message because I really say bad things when I see them, very loudly. But when it’s about the things that have become almost equivalent to luxury in the society, complaining equals being ungrateful.
I get into petty fights with my mum. Probably more often that I should because I just don’t listen. Whenever she hears me make a complaint like a single “I don’t like something”
she goes “you better be grateful to God…some people don’t even have this..”
And I don’t like the sound of that. I mean, I think I’m allowed to not like something. Where is my right to choice and my freedom of expression if I can’t honestly “not like” something? So, it’s very common for us to get into arguments like this.
One day, I said to her… “why are we praying then?”
While I strongly believe that prayers are complaints lodged directly to the helpline of heaven no matter how softly we try to launch it or how pleasing we make it sound to Gods ears by wrapping it in his prophecy or promises for us, my mom doesn’t think so.
Apparently, the bible says “in all situation, give thanks for this is the will of God”
Yeah, as you rightly guessed, this was her counter-attack scripture. But I still don’t agree, if you’re so thankful how do you even notice that you don’t like what situation you are in?
I think “Complain” and “grateful” are two words that are mutually exclusive. I mean I could be grateful for such a great meal and still complain about customer service.
Having a complaint doesn’t make me ungrateful to God or anyone. Well, since my mom won’t hear that y’all better hear me out.
Back to the beginning….
Being in boarding house, one of the things I didn’t like was fetching water. It was distressing to my soul, spirit and body. Having to wait in long queues that seniors will definitely come to disrupt, having to learn to persuade people who arrived earlier to sneak a bucket or two of yours into theirs and even learning to take it by force at some point, the realest struggle, is carrying those black, “Happy family” buckets with handles pulled from metal strings that take no chances in irritating your palmer skin….Like what’s even happy about that family?😭
The hostel to the borehole was quite a distance but even now, I’m contemplating if to say that or not….My mind goes
“it was not that far jor”….
Well, by now you know that’s my “some-people-had-it-worse” syndrome kicking in again. My hostel was the last on the row so I might have had it worse actually😂
Every time I was going to the hostel with water, I’ll just switch to “determination mode” and start imagining myself in the hostel passage with the bucket(s) of water….And it worked, all the time.
While only God can understand the relevance of this back story and how it correlates to this newsletter, let’s move on.
(PS: it’s a week later an I’m almost losing the vision for this particular letter..but let’s fire on)
On the day I started writing this letter, I was convinced that I have had a divine encounter. I still am. It was my last day in the hospital on a week of work experience and it was the first time I’d be in close proximity to a patient’s relatives and even had a chat. I liked it honestly and that’s why I have the nerve to call it divine.
I mean, we talk about African aunties all the time…I think African uncles are really cool…Especially when they’re not your extended family or from your fathers side (guys I’m just saying)
I once met an uncle that thought I was Ghanian and was speaking Twi to me.. I was clueless and he goes
“Are you Ghanaian?” I said “No”
“Nigerian?”
I mean the most chances you need to get that right is actually two.
I wish I could have told him
“Uncle, not by choice though” but I just nodded in the affirmative before he proceeded to tell me to focus on my studies.. I know it’s cliché but I really loved hearing it from someone that’s not my dad or family…After that conversation, I suddenly developed a contagious determination to succeed in life…I really wish it didn’t burn out so quickly, that it remained forever but on some days, I totally hate the idea of “school” or “focus”….I know you do too ..Trust me, we’ll get our spark back someday. (And so shall it be)
Back at the hospital, Agnes, (for anonymity) was a patient obviously diagnosed with many things that nobody needs to know, old age and dementia (that was quite evident because she kept speaking her native language to workers and got mad when they didn’t understand)
Many times, I saw her get feisty with her carers so she was one of the people I was scared to be around. She was the only black woman in the ward so somehow, I just liked her from afar. (I guess that’s what people like me do, love from afar…By the way, I voted in my school politics and the two people I voted got offices. I’m excited. PS: the only reason I voted one of them was because she was the only black person contesting…don’t get me wrong she had a really amazing speech too)
On the last day, Agnes was getting agitated and that was quite typical of her because she constantly experienced pain from a fractured hip. I couldn’t escape close contact with her because she needed help obviously. I even had to put her socks on and receive orders I could barely understand. Surprisingly, she was calm with me and I couldn’t be more grateful.
That was the only time I really encountered her except from the ward rounds.
I had seen Agnes husband around a few times and secretly judged who was older (I tried not to but my intrusive thoughts always be winning. Like for real what’s my business? May God help me) He came around quite often and unlike her, he was sturdy and though not looking exactly young, he looked young still. I mean he even had braids on..(it was giving ‘60s bad boy vibes but “very bad” in a husky voice…Yeah, like that. Thank you!)
That day, I was loitering around the reception and staring blankly from self-consuming joblessness when Agnes husband came around with his friend who is the highlight of this story.
I mean some friends tag along to the party and get the most souvenirs…I really need to be a friend like that.
One thing I noticed about these older generation is they’ll most likely start up a conversation with you. I mean if I were with my mom she’d probably give me a push and make me greet but if I’m alone I’ll just act like I can’t see (I know I’m too sweet to be doing that. Sorry, maybe that’s my toxic trait) I mean how do you teach a child “don’t talk to strangers” all their life and suddenly you want them to greet everybody because they’re adulting and are now “wise” just thinking about it cracks me up.
They probably noticed how hopeless I looked and asked what I was doing I explained I was on a placement and all that and the conversation just kept flowing with the friend. (At this point I’m really confused on giving them names because they’re both uncles)
By now, I’m very sure that big dreams are exciting to the whole black community. While I was doing an extended project qualification, my supervisor asked if I had a dream and in the most casual way you could imagine I’m like
duhh “everyone has dreams” She goes “NO”
Some people don’t mind being liabilities all their lives. I mean, some are born in places where the system is designed to cater for them when they cannot for themselves even when it is a conscious decision (me like this wey be say as they born me inside that Nigeria life first score me 1000-0 I no go con get dream…I dey craze?) So for people like me, the hope of a better future really lies in our dreams and how much we dare to risk not in government wey no send our papa or welfare schemes.
That day, I realised some people really don’t have to dream. imagine being born into reality and all that extra step of dreaming is taken off your to-do-list. Sounds so good I can’t lie because sometimes I get scared of my own dreams.. what if I sleep too much or get stuck, I can’t wake up from these dreams? (Well, despite my occasional fears I know that dreams are valid and you should never deny yourself the opportunity to dream I love myself too much I can’t deny me that)
When I told uncle that I plan to go to medical school, he got really excited for me and the conversation just got more personal…He was so invested.
He asked me a bunch of questions that really took me down the path of black excellence and I really needed that. He reminded me that civilisation started with black people and I swear I won’t ever forget again. The tables may have turned and it probably doesn’t look like it in this age but I really come from a lineage of pure excellence and now, I just know it has to radiate all around me. So, I got another spark.
Uncle spilled the tea about Agnes and her husband’s age (remember I was dying to know). And yeah, her husband his older. Proof that people age differently.
He’d being friends with Agnes husband since they were kids. He said they had a good time. He said it like he really meant it. I saw his eyes and he wasn’t lying, he sure did.
He said to me
“If you don’t have fun, I can’t do it for you” so, I’ll have fun uncle, that’s a promise. I really want to tell someone I had fun when I’m finally his age. I don’t want it to be about the books and excellence alone anymore….I want it to be a live lived, felt, experienced, enjoyed.
He said
“And fun doesn’t have to be wild”
I just knew that was easily the best conversation I’ve had with anyone in my life.
He said he took his ancestry DNA test and he’s ninety-nine percent west African. He specifically mentioned Nigeria and Ghana. I wanted to tell him “I’m Nigerian” but I just let those words stick in my throat. These days, it’s not something I’m exactly proud of.
The whole Slave trade era did a thing to us but somehow, I found uncle and still had the best conversation of my life. That’s why I call it divine. The whole experience was like getting a medical degree in half an hour, divine.
Somehow, I still left without saying goodbye…..Not entirely my fault but I have bad character..(in minimal quantity guys)
This is a long read with a lot of side notes…I hope you read this with all the enthusiasm I put into writing it and you feel exactly what I do.
And I hope you’re having a lovely week.