Eureka Naija – Page 15

Latest Posts

Letter to 10 year old me

Published by Osemhen

So a while ago, I rummaged through my diaries and ‘wrote’a letter basically to me. Ten year old me (she answered to Jennifer) wrote to 21 year old me. You can read it at http://eurekanaija.wordpress.com/2010/06/24/10-year-old-me-vs-21-year-old-me/

This is the reply.

Dear ten year old me,

Hi, there. You’ll be happy to know I turned out pretty ok considering what a nuisance you were! 😛

I now live in Surulere (bet you didn’t see that coming!). I’m through with Uni; ended up going to Unilag, oh! It’s not half as bad as you imagine, don’t worry. And no you(we?) didn’t flunk one bit, contrary to what you might think!

The next few years are going to be the most tumultous of your life; two major tragedies and a house move. Mega sucks, but you’ll cope. Understatement! You’ll astonish yourself with how strong you are. You end up being best friends with Folake Dosunmu (you don’t even know her now!) and Ebiere Oki. Yes, Ebiere Oki!! And you’ll find them the best things that could happen to you in secondary school. They keep you sane, and from going up too bloody fast!!

90% of the people you wanted to be friends with and impress? The ones you thought were so cool in senior secondary school? Not so cool, later on, by the way. Including ALL your crushes, haha…you’ve got weird taste!!

You’ll have the coolest adventures, and all in all, you’ll be thankful for who you are…:)

If I could give you any advice, though this would be it.

Tell Mom you love her everyday moment!
Don’t fight so much with lil bro.
Don’t try so hard to roll with the ‘cool’ people. They turn out pretty lame.
Just be you!
Tell your Physics, Chemistry and Math. teachers thank you all the time! I can’t find any of them now to say it 🙁
Don’t ever, ever, ever stop writing. It helps you weather a lot of storms and you turn out pretty good at it.
Don’t pick your zits.
Don’t date till you’re 18. Trust me!
You’ll get hurt but cry over it and let go. And no matter what you think, it’ll pass.
Don’t be so dismissive of people. Half of the people you scorn end up being so, so important!
Pay attention to your friends, your real friends.
Always keep a diary.
Keep said dairy very well. Especially from Dad!!!
Don’t drift from God, love.
Don’t straighten your hair.

I’m so proud you’re a part of me. I couldn’t imagine being anyone else at age 10.

Sincerely, forever you,

21-going-on-22 you!

Left-Handed in Nigeria

Published by Osemhen

I am left-handed.

And proudly, too. People stare (admiringly, I think … I hope) when I wield my left hand. Most are surprised my hand-writing’s neat (it is!). Others expect me to write from top to bottom… A few comment, “You must be smart.”

That’s the part I like best. And just to make sure it wasn’t some myth-turned-stereotype, I actually looked it up.

It was a great deal of medical-ese I had to wade through but the long and short of it is that most lefties are gifted in Math and art and have terrific organizational skills. We learn easily, are generally unconventional – and okay, it must be said – mostly precocious.

But do we get treated accordingly? No! Society doesn’t like lefties. It has been proved over centuries and across cultures. In French, to be left handed is to be gauche, from where we get the English word of the same spelling that means awkward or clumsy…

In Italian, it is to be sinistro, from where we get the English word sinister…

Oh, and yes, the word ‘left’ comes from the old English word for ‘weak’.

In Taiwan, less than 1% of the population is left-handed. In Nigeria, it’s probably less, no thanks to the prejudices!

All in all, the average leftie lives with an unconscious label of clumsy, evil and weak. Never mind that we’re supposed to be the smarter lot (all hail Einstein and Da-Vinci, Obama and Benjamin Franklin!). We are laughed at, ridiculed, punished, and blatantly discriminated against!

There was that old woman who hit the back of my hand with a wooden spoon every time I ate with my left hand. And the Primary 1 teacher who used a cane on me anytime she caught me writing with my left hand. And there’s the difficulty in using a pressing iron, a pair of scissors or a knife properly. The market women will insult you if you pay with your left hand. And guess who isn’t allowed to play polo, ever? The Leftie!

As if all this isn’t enough, I learned that holding my drink in my left hand in certain circles, issues a silent challenge to all (ahem!) strong men. Apparently, the only people who (should) drink with their left hands are strong native doctors!

I have a dream that someday, lefties will be allowed their freedom of expression, the freedom to eat, write, drink, pay, gesticulate, point etc. with their left hands.

I have a dream, yes, I have a dream that leftism will be encouraged, that our remarkable genius will be widely acknowledged, that one day we will be exempt from chores, menial duties, entrance exams and UTME because we are naturally gifted and so obviously over-qualified.

I have a dream that someday, we won’t even need to spend sixteen years of our lives in school like everybody else. Instead, we shall be given free rein to skip classes and be awarded doctorates immediately after college.

I have a dream that people will someday want signed autographs of lefties like myself, that one day a left hand will guarantee one a job (we have such terrific organizational skills, duh!)

In the mean time, it would be in my best interest to learn to drink with my right hand. No point looking for trouble, eh?

10 year old me vs. 21 year old me

Published by Osemhen

Ten year old me was average height, skinny with a slight pot-belly, very tan and had a boy’s cropped hair cut (will locate picture soon). Ten year old had only one wish: more jeans, less housework. Ten year old me had no idea what she wanted to be in future and was flunking Math. Ten year old me held the 58th position (academically) in a class of about 80. (in my defense, the average age in that class was 11 :)) Ten year old was just a regular kid, period.
Fast forward, eleven years, and I’m taking stock of my life, wondering if the younger me would approve. The image in my head is of her penning me a letter (email?) so here goes.

Dear 21-year-old me,

Hi.

Glad to see that you (I?) finally figured out what to do with yourself (myself). I would’ve chosen something more glamorous than engineering, though. Oh well…

You write? Cool! Can’t understand why you haven’t completed a book, though. Nice book collection, by the way but why no Mills and Boon?

I expected you to be taller and more fashionable, I guess. Mom would be pleased you’re so light, she keeps nagging about me spending so much time in the sun. You have acne….oh no!! What happened to your hair, shouldn’t it be longer? And shouldn’t you be engaged by now? You have a crush on who? Him? Are you nuts?!

Whatever happened to *****? Haha! He did? And you turned him down? Are you for real?? Why? Wow!!! 😀

I like your friends, they’re cool. Didn’t expect you to be so…good. I like that you didn’t put on weight but you should be taller, shouldn’t you? Sigh. So what are your plans now? Oh, interesting…

Bye,

Jennie

As you can see I was a rude, insensitive brat! So final prognosis? You tell me!

Father's Day!

Published by Osemhen

I don’t know if he’ll see this post, my Dad is taking his precious time with using the internet…

Daddy owns a printing press, and as any small business owner can tell you, it’s not easy having an irregular source of income. Sometimes, we hit jackpot and live like kings (Haha! Get it, Jackpot? Kings? ok, never mind!). Other times…hmmm but it’s okay, ’cause we’re together and that’s what matters. So here’s a tribute to my dad!

For making all these personal sacrifices so we can eat, school and stay warm.
For all the worrying.
For being brave enough to let us venture out on our own.
For being proud of our achievements.
For being our biggest fan.
For ignoring our protests against curfews.
For all the dreams that were subsumed by parenthood.
For wanting the best for us and the willingness to do anything for that.
For letting us know that being expelled for fighting was ok, but not for stealing!
For silly, Waffi jokes.
For … creative (lack of a better word!) cooking.
For troubling those who trouble us! a.k.a kicking the ass of the teachers who dared to flog us!
For being strong and dependable.
For teaching us to question laid theories.
For teaching us to read, and read well.

And so many more!

To all the dads out there, who have to put up with kids with brains that seem the size of peanuts, self-destruct offspring, untidy wannabe bums, chin up!

Beneath the grumpy glares and the muttering under our breath, we love you to bits. Trust me on this…

Happy Father’s Day!

p.s. To the guy who will someday be the father of my adorable children :), Happy Father’s Day, too!

Meaning of life

Published by Osemhen

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UF8uR6Z6KLc]

I used to be scared of dying.

I’m still scared of dying. But when I was twelve, the fear was an illness, a reality my mind refused to let go of. One time, I was convinced that I had cancer. I cried myself to sleep for an entire week, too frightened to even tell my parents. Another time, I was certain I would suffer a brain aneurysm sometime in the near future. I resigned myself to the fact that I would die without knowing that I was dying.

The fear is still there in the back of my head somewhere, it manifests itself as giddiness whenever I cross a large expanse of water by plane, or on a bridge. You see, now I’m scared of drowning to death never mind that I’m a reasonably good swimmer.

All these thoughts were brought to the forefront by a speech I recently listened to. It was Steve Jobs speaking to Stanford graduates, and he spoke of his encounter with a rare pancreatic cancer that the doctors were initially convinced he’d never survive. He did survive but it reaffirmed for him a principle he’d learnt to live by: Live everyday like it’s your last. I’d heard these words before. In fact, they’d lost their meaning through over-use. But for some reason, this time, it sunk in.

He said, and I paraphrase, every morning, look into the mirror and ask yourself “If today was my last day, would I want to do what I’m about to?”. If the answer is no, too many times in a row, then you have a problem. The question haunts me. Because I want my answer always to be yes. Always. Thing is, I’m not sure how to ensure that without bungling it, getting overrun by the wrong ideals or just plain disillusioned.

And so, I’m gonna take it one step at a time. Small gestures. Before I leave home in the morning, I will give my still drowsy Dad and sibs, cheery farewells. I will wink at my reflection in the mirror. On the bus, I will raise my thoughts and mind to my Creator, I will run all my plans and my schedule by Him and ask Him not to let me wander too far. I will let my family and friends know I love them; notes, letters, phone calls.

I will do one thing everyday to bring me closer to my goals.

I may temporarily accept less, but will refuse to settle with it.

I will do exactly what I feel like when I want to. I will trust my conscience, sense of propriety and upbringing to make sure I don’t do the wrong stuff. I will reject crowd mentality and mediocrity, and not let my fear of being unpopular or poverty overrule my sense of ‘right’.

Above all, I will stay hungry and foolish. Hungry so I always remember where I’m coming from, and stay motivated to succeeding. And foolish, so that I’ll always attempt the impossible.

Sister, Sister

Published by Osemhen

I’m a first child, with all the responsibilities, attitudes and whatnot that comes with.

I am responsible for my siblings, the one they look up to, the one who has to have all the answers, the one who has to push them to achieve, because if I can so can they.

I am the one they run to when it all hits the fan, the one who can clean the mess, frighten the boogie man and make it all better. They believe I can do it all.

The problem begins when I believe it too.

When I believe I’m Superwoman, and that my primary duty is to make it all go away. And then I torture myself with guilt when I fail them, and blame myself for their every mistake, disappointment or sadness. Where do I draw a line? Should there be a line? Where do my responsibilities stop and their need for to be independent begin? Just the thought of trying to draw a line provokes shame at being disloyal. I have no answers.

Or maybe I do.

Maybe I’ll stop trying so damn hard to be perfect, and a shining example. Maybe I’ll admit I don’t have the answers. Maybe I’ll let them solve their own problems. Maybe I’ll swallow my pride and finally realize that they don’t “need” me and that’s good. It’s like my mentor said, “If you’re indispensable, then there’s something wrong.”

Bus Etiquette 101: How to act like an Educated and Intelligent Citizen

Published by Osemhen

In these days of LAMATA and LAGBUS buses, there exists a need to clearly define personal and public boundaries. The buses aren’t public places, per se, like restaurants but neither are they private enclosures. At any one time, a bus holds on the average forty people, standing or seated quite closely together. As such, it demands different habits from the usual norm. Do I sound quite formal? Well, it’s either that or spew in tear-my-hair-out-in-frustration style. So here goes:

1. Do shower. And change your clothes. Please. It’s a public service to the rest of humanity who have to squash up against you standing in the bus.

2. Do keep to the queue. Yes, you’re faster and smarter than the rest of humanity. Yes, you have a job interview in ten minutes. But if we can’t obey a simple rule like waiting our turn, why do we expect better of our leaders? Keep to the queue. And thump on the head anyone who doesn’t! OK, don’t 🙂

3. Do smile and acknowledge with a hello anyone you happen to sit beside, especially if he/she got there first. Your fellow Nigerians are not your enemies; there’s no reason to get on the bus all belligerent.

4. Do stand up for elders, pregnant women and women carrying babies. Rather tricky explaining the sequence but here goes:
Guys should stand up for older men (looks more than twenty years older than you) and older women (Looks more than ten years older than you). Use your church mind when it comes to standing up for young women. With younger women, you can be chivalrous (personally, I would appreciate it) but it’s not compulsory.
Young women stand up for older women (old enough to be your mom’s younger sister) and much, much older guys (55 and above). Caveat: Most older men will refuse to take a young woman’s seat though, so if you insist and he refuses, you can reclaim your seat.

5. Don’t insult/abuse the driver/conductor. Their jobs are just as important as that one you’re running off to sanctimoniously. If you’re on the bus, chances are you don’t own a car. If all the bus drivers and taxi drivers decided to quit/strike for a month, you’d be, to put it mildly, screwed!

6. Don’t hold loud telephone conversations, especially when you’re in conflict with the other person. I’ve heard people scold their children, spouses, family and employees quite insultingly, eyeballs bulging and shouting at the top of their lungs. Really? Do we need to know all the sordid details?

7. Don’t play music on your latest toy. Yes, we noticed you have the new iPhone. You don’t have to blast Forever Young. Terribly uncouth. Do the world a favor and get head-phones.

8. Don’t do your make-up on the bus. Retouching lip-gloss is one thing, applying kohl quite another. It’s rather vulgar making faces, pouting and wincing at your reflection in the mirror while you apply purple lipstick.

9. Don’t toast/hit on/ ask out on the bus. Yes, she’s the cutest thing ever. Yes, (and luckily for her) you may never see her again. But if she refuses to give her number, please don’t beg. Don’t narrate your love history, either, and don’t insist on what a nice guy you are. It embarrasses her. And it embarrasses us, standing overhead or sitting within hearing distance.

10. Couples, don’t argue on the bus. Asking him if he loves you in that firm, drama-queen voice is ok when you’re at dinner in a private restaurant. Demanding the identity of the guy who just texted her is best reserved for a more private location. Not in a public place and definitely not on the bus!

11. Don’t brag on the phone or in conversation. Should be obvious, but there was this fellow standing beside me who boasted to a long lost friend all the way from Marina to the Stadium of how he’d gone on WWTBAM and won one million and how Aroma’s winning was staged etc. I dearly itched to slap him. Shut up already!

*Sigh*…feels so much better to let it all out. Hope you’re having a better day.