OVERSHARING: THE RAT RACE.

I am the first child –the first daughter — in what is your usual patriarchal Igbo home; the second, deputy or assistant mother to two teenagers and a prepubescent girl whose eyes are still shielded from the rest of the world. And while I see every day in my father’s actions –and inactions — that he loves me and my siblings, I also live with the slightly irrational yet perfectly understandable fear that someday, I will be left with nothing; not my father’s name, nor his legacy, nor the houses and the plots of land he owns in different states. I live in fear for my safety, my stability as a growing woman struggling to find my place in a society that does not love or even respect me, with three younger siblings and a mother who has just found her wings again after being a housewife for so long.

I fear mine is a precarious position, one that might spell doom for me because I am a woman, the firstborn child and because black tax is still a thing. And so that fear drives me, pushes me. Like a noose around my neck, it is tight, itchy.

I live with the expectations of a mother who used to (and still does, sometimes) drag me to different prayer houses: some arenas in barren land, others concrete ground with roofs that have no ceiling, birds flying in and perching on wooden beams to watch humans desperate for a miracle and plastic chairs broken from heavily pregnant women falling on them during deliverance sessions. I live with the memories of pastors, prophets and evangelists all affirming that my relatives are after me and that I am destined to marry a rich man and give him many children. My mother still listens to them, nodding as she internalizes those words that all imply that I have a “great destiny” and will be the savior of our home. I do not believe them but I do not want to fail her.

My father is not dead. He is not ill and he is not lazy, but I can’t help but feel that all his love will not protect me when I need it the most. His hard-earned almost-upper middle class financial status will not shield my future and it will not protect my needs. Again, slightly irrational but perfectly understandable. So I run, eyes wide open, a 20 year old simultaneously going through the motions and trying to keep her head up. Looking for what I’m good at, –maybe great at even — looking for what work of my hands and mind will ensure I’m rich or comfortable enough to be able to shield myself and my siblings if that day ever comes.

It’s in my speech. It’s in the almost desperate way with which I try out new hobbies, learn new skills, practice new disciplines, try (and drop halfway) different online courses. It’s not because I want to learn or gain new knowledge. I mean… I do; the curse of the multitalented does haunt me, with my many interests and aspirations. However, I will not be pretentious and say my pursuit for the next in-demand skill, the next oil money, the next tech bro 23x salary earning job was borne out of the need for knowledge. It is borne out of the need for choice. Where breasts and a vagina have relegated me to the expectation of a simple existence, one where the prophets tell my mother I’m destined to marry a rich man who lives abroad and will make life easier for her, a life where I will face misogyny (whether subtle or not), money is something I know will dampen that effect. Money gives me choice. And choice will always be necessary.

One of my favorite paintings — I made it btw

I fear that that desperation has made me lose my way. There is no clarity and I am now in the rat race of my own anxious nature. But I am comforted in my awareness that I am going to find something to protect me. It is not the healthiest opinion and I know money can only go so far in a corrupt system, but it is what Nigeria has taught me.

And so when I pay for that writing class with money I was going to use to buy a wig, or pay the application fee for that software engineering diploma program with part of my internship stipend, or swallow my jealousy and learn when I see people my age who have their lives figured out, I’m not just doing it because I have multiple interests. I’m doing it to protect myself. When I stay up doing research for that internship, when I cry my eyes out at not having gotten the position I was vying for, when I pass exams and assessments, I’m happy because I am one step closer to financial freedom. When I read up on color theory and how to use complimentary colors on canvas, when I jump like a monkey because i successfully installed vscode and python on my laptop, it’s because I know I’m not stagnant. It is because I feel ASUU has not completely ruined my timeline with another strike, and I am one step closer to not needing my father’s money.

Every win, every loss, every internship gotten, every post won, every fellowship I’ve managed to squeeze into brings me choice, the ability to take care of my family, to spoil my boyfriend, to move out in the nearest future. It’s a lot of pressure to put on myself but I can’t help it. Hopefully I will soon.

Its choking but I know I’ll find the clarity I’m looking for soon. I’ll swing the bat as many times as I can so I can finally hit the piñata.

Thank you for reading this far and thank you for all your love.

Stay safe.

Love, Precious.