Life's Journey

Given a chance to go back in time, many of us might jump at the opportunity. Other people might think that it will be a waste of time. Growing up, we did many things that seemed like fun. But as adults, we might say, "What was I thinking?"

I grew up in a southwestern part of Nigeria. I was raised by my grandparents because my parents were not married and they were not together. My grandparents tried to teach me about love from the time I was young, and I was glad that I took the opportunity to learn from the best. My grandmother did not have any formal education, but she understood love and tried to teach us based on her experiences. I was the only grandchild for five years until my sister was born. After the birth of my sister, I still enjoyed the privileges associated with being the first grandchild. Growing up with such privileges can be advantageous and disadvantageous. The good thing was that I got all the love and caring I could imagine; the downside was that I could be bad and still look like an angel in my grandparents' eyes. I was somehow naïve and stubborn, yet my grandparents saw me as sweet as a cherry pie.

Despite my stubborn but playful behavior for a girl of my age, I was the best student in my grammar school. My good grades were another reason I got away with so much growing up. My grandmother was pleased that I came first or second in a class with so many kids. In school, I was humble and respectful. Many of my teachers liked to talk to me about how I could get ahead in life. My fourth-grade teacher told me that I should try for the high-school entrance examination the following year. I dared not question his reasons for thinking that I should go to high school before I finished grammar school. To me, I was just being a nice kid and doing the right thing at school as I was supposed to.

After the conversation with my teacher, my thoughts became occupied with the idea of going to high school. I did not know whom to talk to about the idea, mainly due to the various images that I displayed for others to see. Among my age group, they saw me as self-sufficient and smart. I knew my grandparents thought the best of me, but I thought they might not understand why I had to go to high school before finishing grammar school. My fear was how to convince my grandmother about going to high school before finishing grammar school because she saw me as her little angel. Therefore, I was not sure if she would understand and allow me to do so. I was nine years old, which meant that if I passed the entrance exam, I would be an eleven-year-old freshman in high school. In Nigeria at that time, primary school lasted six years, and high school was five years.

After putting my thoughts together, I had enough courage to confide in one of my uncles, who was in high school at the time. (He is now a chief; he inherited our grandfather's title, Chief Olofi. He still lives between the village and the nearest town and manages all the family's affairs.) My uncle told me that it was a wonderful idea, and if he had to pick anyone for a similar opportunity, he would pick me. He promised to get the high-school entrance examination form from the community school he was attending once it was available. He asked if I had talked to anyone in the family, especially his mother, my grandmother. He knew how much my grandmother loved me and wanted the best for me. I told him no, because I was not sure my grandmother would have understood and allowed me to go away at that tender age. He said, "Trust me. Mother knows more than you think."

To convince me to talk to my grandmother, my uncle talked about my grandmother's background, how her father had been a priest who learned to read Bible from elders in the church. Her mother had been a princess of Shekiri land (in what is now Delta State) and died during a big storm on the coast while she was retrieving goods from a ship that had sailed from Europe. My grandmother's father had stopped her from going to school and sent her younger brother instead. It is a common practice in Nigeria to send the male child to school and keep the female child at home to help with the house chores and learn how to become a wife. My grandmother never got over the idea of not receiving a formal education. I cannot count how many times she told me the story.

I told my uncle that I knew all that and that I would talk to my grandmother about it. When I told her, she was so happy about the idea, she stood up from her stool she was sitting on and started dancing and singing and praising the Lord. Between her songs she would say such things as: "You do not belong in this village. I knew you would go to college, become a lawyer, and sue the white people who let my mother die at the sea and bring them to justice." My grandmother was about five or six years old when her mother died. She always believed something should have been done to save her. In Nigerian culture, death and dying were never discussed in the presence of children. All my grandmother knew was that her mother died at the sea; over the years she had filled in the gaps. I listened patiently, with a caring attitude every time my grandmother told the story.

At the end of her dancing and chanting, she said she would tell my mother and father when they came to visit. Seeing how my grandmother received the news took all my worries away, and I was content. It was a magical feeling that made all my worries disappear and replaced them with feelings of happiness and joy. It is a feeling that many of us would love to have every day, but we often end up looking for it in the wrong places.

Moving Up the Ladder

The following year, my uncle got the high-school entrance examination form for me, as he had promised. My grandmother had told my parents about the plan when they next visited and they were very happy about the news, as she had promised. My task was to study hard for the exam and pass it, in order to make everyone who believed in me proud. I took the exam when I was ten years old. I did not feel pressure because I had to do extra studying to prepare for it. I still did my schoolwork and other chores around the house. Being excused from household chores was not one of the first grandchild's privileges. I still had to do my chores every day. Before school, I got the water ready for the baths for the younger children and swept outside the house. Among other things, I still did some errands around the house and often helped the neighbors after school. My grandparents did not have maids; they made us do everything, from cooking meals to cleaning the house, but because of my age I was never allowed to cook. This is because they believed that the best training any child can receive is in the home. My initial education in life came from watching my grandmother running the house and still having time to spend with us and listen to our issues and concerns.

I was not as close to my grandfather as I was to my grandmother, but he gave me love and affection whenever he was around. My grandfather was a trader and, later in life, a farmer; he was often away. But whenever he came home from a hard day of work, we felt his presence through the love and caring he showed. Most of the time, after dinner, but before it was dark, we would sit around him outside of the house, and he'd tell us a wisdom story. Those stories have helped me overcome many of the difficulties I encounter in life today.

I tried to do the same with my children around the dinner table when they were younger. But my children are very bold and outspoken and asked many question before I could even complete a story. My son is now twenty-four years old, and my daughter is twenty-seven. When they were four and seven, I explained why the younger child should respect the older one by not yelling out her name to get attention. My son called his sister by her name and often yelled when he called her. To make my point, I told them the story of Turtle and Lion. That turtle was very small, slow in crawling, yet she was smart and helpful; but Lion was brave, fast, and intimidating. In that particular kingdom, Turtle was older than Lion, which meant Lion needed to respect Turtle. But Lion thought because he was bigger and faster in getting his work done, that should excuse him from respecting Turtle. He called Turtle by her name instead of Ms. Turtle or Auntie Turtle. One day, Lion was so very sick that he needed Turtle's help to make him food. He was so sick that he could not talk or yell out like he used to. He tried to call Turtle and asked for her help. Because he was so tired from his illness, he could only whisper out, "T ... ur ... t ... le." His voice was so low that no one could hear him. Turtle was so happy that Lion had not come around and she was enjoying her peace. On the other hand, Lion was miserable and lonely. When I finished the story, I talked about various ways of showing respect: not insulting or disrespecting one's elders; maintaining eye contact but not in a manner to intimidate; using a title like auntie before one's sister's name so that the elder would be willing to help when needed. In the Nigerian tradition, especially in the Yoruba tribe, addressing elders—inside or outside the family unit—as mama, papa, broor (brother), auntie, and uncle to display respect is very common and is taken very seriously. I told my son to use auntie before his sister's name to indicate that she was older and as a sign of respect. He said okay. I was happy because I'd gotten through to my son and had passed down what I had learned from my grandfather. Then my son looked at me and said, "I will call her auntie if she calls me uncle." I was speechless: challenged by a four-year-old. It remained a joke at the dinner table for many years. Though he still calls his sister's name without the title auntie, he finds other ways to show her respect. And they are still very close to this day.

That year, I took the entrance exam, and I passed it. I was very happy for I knew then that it was okay to accept a challenge and okay to try regardless of the outcome. My first challenge had resulted in a good outcome. After that experience, I saw myself as a child with an aspiring future. I started thinking about life in high school, after high school, and in college. I never imagined married life or how my life might change if I got married. I never thought about how to relate to a partner, raise children, and maintain a home. I took it all for granted because my grandmother was very good at those things, and I never thought of them as skills that I needed to develop. My grandmother tried to talk to me about marriage so that I would be well rounded. If I had known, I would have listened and taken advantage of her instructions.

I went away to high school at the tender age of eleven. My parents decided I should stay in the dormitory. Though I was sad to leave my grandparents' house, I was happy to go to a high school that was close to their village. I usually visited my grandparents every other weekend, because the school did not permit more frequent outings. Every time I visited my grandparents, I did not want to go back to the dormitory. I asked my grandmother if I could commute from her house to school. She said that she would love to have me stay with her, but it was quite a distance for me to travel back and forth. It was not the response I wanted to hear, but I respected it, because I knew she only wanted the best for me.

Life in High School

High school was not exactly the way I imagined it would be. I thought the teachers would be as caring as my teacher in grammar school had been. But we had different teachers for each subject. Each teacher would come to the classroom, finish his or her lecture, and never be heard from again until the next lecture. I was not used to going to the teacher's office to discuss an issue. In grammar school, the teachers always came to talk to me. The kids in my class were not nice either; they made fun of each other, and the boys picked on the girls to intimidate them. When I was in grammar school, I was very respectful toward everyone in my class. I thought that if I displayed those qualities—which had gotten me a good spot in grammar school—I would be saved from those mean high-school kids. I mostly remained in my seat and only talked when the teacher asked a question or a nice kid talked to me. I was very quiet due to the intimidation from the arrogant kids and the unfamiliar environment.

Despite my struggles to adjust to life in high school, it never crossed my mind to quit and go back home. Life in the dormitory was another story. I adjusted more quickly than I anticipated.

The dormitory life was very fun; we had picture day and social activities every other month. The dormitory was divided into four units; each unit was assigned a name and we had interhouse sports every year. I was in Yellow (Iloro) House. To this day, yellow is my favorite color. There was a mix of different students in each house, ranging from form 1 (grade 8) to form 5 (grade 12).

To help the new students adjust to high-school life better, students in forms 1 to 3 were usually assigned to assist the seniors in form 5 with little chores they might have. In return, the seniors were expected to serve as role models, making sure the younger students went to class, helping them with their schoolwork, and making sure they adjusted well to life in high school. I was assigned to the head girl; the reason why remains a puzzle to this today. I did such a good job I was assigned to every head girl up to my third year in school. In my fourth year, my only requirement was to observe the characteristics of a leader, because the following year a student would be assigned to assist me.

So much happened in fourth year; that was the year students needed to start thinking about what to do next—either take the mock examination for the West Africa Examination Certificate (WAEC ), take the entrance exam for university or polytechnic, get married, or go into the family business, if that was an option. Regardless of what plans one had, the fourth year was the bridge to all. My plan was to go to university; I did not want to go too far from my grandparents' house, but there was no university close enough. I kept those thoughts to myself while I searched for a solution.

The most common discussion among fourth-year students was about the future. Those students who had already figured it out were boastful; those of us who were in doubt usually remained quiet. I knew I would further my education, because anything else was not an option. I remained focused in high school, and I was always in the top five in my class. My ability to stay focused at that early age earned me a special place in my father's heart. I learned through the experience of being my father's favorite child that my hard work had paid off.

My father was a businessman, an executive at an insurance firm with branches all over Nigeria. He traveled around the globe, attending business meetings or seminars. Despite his business obligations, he always took time to visit me while I was in high school. His presence was always felt by many students in my school. He would park his Mercedes-Benz by the popular junction on the way to the dormitory, where he would be seen and admired by many. He would not let any of those students walk by him without saying hello and wishing them well.

I was my mother's parents' first granddaughter and my father's first daughter. My father ended up marrying multiple women and having many children, but he loved every one of us in his own way. He died of heart failure in 2005, at the age of sixty-nine; may his soul continue to rest in perfect peace. Because I was the first daughter, smart, and focused, my father wanted the best for me. Like me, my father was sure that I would go to university; he wanted me to learn about his business and work for him. However, I never wanted to work for my father or learn about the insurance business. I wanted to be a nurse. I loved the way nurses dressed, and the ones I knew always appeared very neat with good posture. I started focusing on my image, always dressing neatly and walking with my head straight up, my chest out, and my hips slightly pushed out. I dared not tell my father that I wanted to be a nurse. He had a dream for me to work in the family business; doing otherwise would break his heart. I loved my father too much to hurt him. I kept my thoughts of becoming a nurse to myself and talked about majoring in business at university. My father loved the idea; he suggested that I study accounting so I could lead his accounting department. It was a good choice for me, because I was very good in math. I finished my fourth year with flying colors, and I looked forward to my senior year.