The Ferret

It’s been a really hectic week. Despite my tired ankles and puffy eyes I’m incredibly gratified. I go to bed each night fagged out but with a fat smile on my face knowing I have something to look forward to in the morning.

My dress making lessons are coming along swell. Today I cut my first skirt and blouse. I was supposed to start sewing right away, but I’ve put it off till tomorrow. I’ll wake up to it and, hopefully, be able to finish it before the end of the day without making tones of mistakes. Maybe I’ll put up a picture when I’m through. If my internet connection will allow me.

When I’m through with learning the basics I plan to enroll in a fashion institute to learn designing, pattern making, etc.

***

I checked out this month’s edition of True Love, like Jan suggested. And I must say I’m impressed with how far Ghana has come in tackling the water sachet menace. Actually, it was from there I first came across the idea while browsing. I started out knitting with used plastic bags, but it was a bit cumbersome. The bags kept sticking to the needles. Crotcheting is a better alternative. Sewing is the best though you don’t get the same aesthetic feel. With crotcheting or knitting you can still confound people.

I tried making a carry all bag out of a piece of old material. I’m almost done and it looks okay. Sewing a bag is easy, like I said earlier, straight lines is to sewing what drinking milk is to a baby.

My friend told me once I started doing it other people would copy me. Truth is I’ll be glad if they did. There’s nothing I hate more than seeing those pieces of plastic rubbishing every nook and crany of the country.

***

I got the potted plants for my snailery. Because the whole family will be traveling at the end of the month for weddings in different parts of the country, I’ve decided to put off getting the snails untill we all return. Don’t want to come back to find empty shells, lol.

I was supposed to go for my aunt’s wedding, but ‘ll be traveling to Lagos instead. M will be coming down. All along I’ve managed to push him to the back of my mind, but as the date draws nearer I find myself looking forward to seeing him again. This whole thing has been upside down. I’ve tried not to dwell on missing him by throwing myself into other activities.

His mum, my MIL, doesn’t call as often as she used to. She’s not happy because she thinks it’s not right for me to be married and still staying in my parents house. She said according to Yoruba culture, it is not proper. Once a woman is married she should stay in her husbands home or her inlaw’s house. Even my bro’s brother in the US sent an email to his bro here in Abuja telling him it will be more proper if I stayed with them as opposed to my parents.

I hate the way people evoke culture when it suits them. I remember during my traditional wedding, they kicked and screamed about having to travel to the village. They gave all sorts of reasons why it shouldn’t be, even when my parents (the folks that birthed and raised me) told them that’s our tradition and that’s how they want it done. They were making snide remarks about how such archaic practices are still enforeced in this modern times.

Yet here they are, saying it’s not right for me to be staying with my parents. They should all go and sit down. So far nobody has asked if I’m happy!

Anyway, I’m waiting for either of them to confront me with why I’m still living with my parents.

When M raised the issue, I told him what should be of paramount importance is my happiness not propriety. Right now I want to engage myself in productive activity and my parents location is the ideal place for it. I won’t for the sake of ‘culture’ or pleasing my husband’s relatives sacrifice my happiness. Shikena!

When I was living with my MIL she seemed to be contented with having me around; like a piece of furniture. You’re happy to see it sitting there whenever you enter the room. She didn’t care that I was withering away. She once asked if I wanted to teach, that one of her friends owned a school and could get me employed. I told her teaching wasn’t really my thing. I don’t have the countenance to handle secondary school kids. I experienced their satanic behaviour during my service year. And teaching in a primary school would retard me.

I couldn’t very well tell her Lagos drives me mad. First of all the rotten neighbourhood the house is situated in is not condusive for a rounded development. Add that to the fact that M used to be a menace in his younger years. He was a restless youth who fought with and beat up a lot of neighbourhood boys he’s now afraid they’ll vent their revenge on me, therefore he’s banned me from walking around the neighbourhood. The day I ventured to the market with his cousin, he shouted down the phone as if I had deliberately thrown myself in front of a moving vehicle. Imagine not being able to take a stroll out in the evening? When you marry someone you marry all the crap they’re dragging around with them!

Secondly, my MIL is too old to drive so she has a driver. There’s nothing I hate more than being chauffered around. Yet I can’t drive because Lagos roads are impossible to navigate, for me at least. They’re very confusing. Besides, I don’t really know places ‘cuz I’ve lived there for less than a year. In othere words there’s no freedom of movement. I can’t very well be dropped off and picked up from work like a school child!

Here in Abuja, if I wanted to go anywhere I’d jump into my mum’s car, or if she’s using it I hop on a bus and I’m there. I get to go for exercise in the mornings with my parents. Feels so good to feel the early morning breeze kiss your face.

I once told M I didn’t like living in their house. He took it wrongly to mean that because they lived in a poor neighbourhood (which was not so when they first built their house) I was being a snub. I told him that wasn’t the point; I didn’t marry him for his money afterall. I told him it’s more psychologial than material. It’s like living in a cage; robbed of your independence. Being at the mercy of someone else. What a rotten way to live!

I hate Lagos with a passion. The whole world seems to be there. It’s so stressful going from point A to point B. There are too darn many people. It’s choked up and is always hot. I go to Lagos and I start sweating like a goat. Unfortunately it’s M’s base. Left for me I would have loved to try my luck in Abuja. I remember when I told M I would love for us to live in Ogun state or Ibadan or something, before Abuja came into the picture. He laughed at my face. He’s one of the many millions of Nigerian suckers besotted by the notion that Lagos IS the most happening place in the world!

I can’t wait to start making money so I can dictate my terms. That’s just the way it is. When people feed and clothe you it’s like they have a right to determine how you live your life.

*

I was at the Abuja Central Mosque yesterday for Friday prayers. The journey there was marred by heavy rainfall and I received another shocker when I stepped in to find it’d been stripped of it’s carpet. The worst part of it was there weren’t enough mats provided. Apparently the heavy rains have ruined the roof causing it to leak. For such an imposing structure it’s surprising the contractors didn’t factor in the heavy tropical rains in their design. It’s so typically Nigerian!

After prayers, as I was driving out I was suprised to find Nigerians behaving in the most uncivilized manner right within the mosque premises and just barely outside. Minutes after praying they were back to their daily nastiness of refusing the give right of way or taking it by force. Needless to say I was appalled by their failure to imbibe the virtues their religion glorifies. Then again I’m terribly naive.

It’s just pathetic that Nigerians think prayers alone is our salvation from a corrupt society collapsing in on itself.

*

I just read M’s cousin was attacked by armed robbers in his home. I won’t know the full gist untill I call him tomorrow. It’s saddening hearing about robbers preying on hard working citizens. Why don’t they ever attack those high up there? Even armed robbers have their priorities messed up. Teachers are on strike, demanding higher salaries while individuals are reported to have looted money in the billions of naira; a kings ransom compared to what the teachers are asking for. The whole country has it’s priorities messed up. The two looters who were indicted for embezelment have been given their international passports back. That’s bye-bye to millions of irrecoverable loot that could have been channelled into improving the welfare of millions of citizens!

9 July 2008

I’m down two dress sizes, from 22 to 18. I used to be a 14 before all this madness started, so that’ll be my target for now. Size 12 is far too skinny by my standards. 14 is more realistic; I get to loose weight, be healthy and still have my curves.

I feel my midriff and the spare tires seem to be merging. That’s a good sign. What’s even better is I can hardly grab my love handles. They used to be handfuls. I feel so good about myself now. There’s no stopping me!

*

I’ve heard M mention a couple of times that I want to do everything. I tried explaining to him that he cannot possibly understand what it feels like to know there is nothing you can’t achieve once you put your mind to it. For most of my teenage years and some of my early youth I was paralyzed by crippling fear and anxiety. Each day was like walking to a guillotine. School was pure torture! Waking up each day took up a great deal of energy. Rather than thanking God for being alive, I asked why I had to be put through this misery.

My heart would thump wildly as I walked to the bus stop. Getting on the bus took unimaginable effort. Then arriving at school my palms would start sweating, my knees would almost buckle and my entire body would be trembling. It lasted most of the day. I was terrified of people. I hated having to stand in line during assemblies.

When I look back, I am amazed at how I was able to get the best O-level results in my school, as well as being able to graduate with honours. What nobody knew was during exams, I felt so overwhelmed that my hands would tremble uncontrollably for the first and last thirty minutes. I just couldn’t hold the pen no matter how hard I tried to steady myself. So a three hour paper, for me was really a two hour paper because that was the amount of time I had to answer all the questions.

I remember my teacher once telling me she knew I could have done better after a Geography paper. I felt crushed that day, because I knew I could have done better if not for my nerves.

Sometimes I wonder what could have been if I didn’t have the handicap. Perhaps I might have been brave enough to study medicine – become a gynaecologist like I’ve always dreamt about – own my hospital some day. I might have graduated with first class honours. I might have been awarded a scholarship. I might have had so many window of opportunities opened that I would simply be spoilt for choice.

I always fell short of my expectations. When I study I target an A but end up with a B+ because of my nerves. I felt angry; even my friend whom we study together was surprised. We drifted apart after some time because I think she felt I wasn’t serious. Plus, her other Chinese friends started boycotting her because she was hanging out with a ‘negro’. (We still kept in touch though. She’s in Hong Kong now with her hubby. I’m really happy for her.)

Anyway, I almost gave up because no matter how hard I worked, in the end I never got what I desired. I started to ask myself what was the point? This was when my depression peaked and I had a nervous breakdown. When I came out of it, nothing had changed, except I was resolved to not letting fear run my life. At this point I joined the debate society. It was my worst nightmare, but I lived through it.

I hated my graduation; though it was the happiest day for my parents. My mum came all the way from Japan then just for it.

Sometimes I think about what I would have become if I had let my situation eat me up. I would have ended up a slut, an alcoholic or a drug addict. But something inside always kept me in check; pulled me back whenever I got too close to the edge.

*

Fast forward to present day. I’m not as nervous or fearful. I’m more confident to face the world now. You can imagine the feeling of euphoria? The feeling that nothing is above or beyond you. That you can do whatever you put your mind to. You can now understand why M said what he said; that I want to do everything.

No one but the caged bird knows how it feels to be set free.