Nipping That Superiority Complex Off
I used to have a superiority complex. Yes. I just said that out loud. Pheww! But…let me backtrack a bit to give this context. Growing up, we didn’t have much. Well, the big house and the flashy cars would have deceived many people but we who were members of the family knew we didn’t have much. Okay…we could eat three square meals and our mum always made sure we had nice biscuits, chocolates and sweets. We had cable TV and we went to the amusement park once. Looking at it now, we had a lot! I know many of friends who didn’t have as much. In spite of all these, I felt we didn’t have a lot. I knew early on that the big house and cars were a great façade. My belief was cemented when we were always the last to get text books, uniforms or other school stuff generally. In fact, there was this term when I was in Primary 4 or so when I couldn’t participate in Physical Education because I (we) didn’t have sportswear. One of my favorite teachers – Late Mrs. Williams – took pity on us the following term and said we could exercise but only at the back. To add to that, we were driven for school fees from Nursery one until we graduated in SS3. Every single term! (*laughing like crazy. I have always found this line to be intensely funny). Anyway, we learned early not to ask for stuff like the latest Cortina shoes, or any form of video games, Discman or Pokémon anything. We learned to make do with what we had and for many years; which meant we were not among the cool kids. Cue in ‘Cool Kids’ by EchoSmith – though they were two decades ahead of the time – and you have my biggest yearning as a child. I looked at my family, looked at the near future and decided the only thing that was going to get me out of that predicament was my intellect. So I read. Books, magazine, newspapers, pamphlets, labels on food, medicine and cosmetics, banners and whatever I could lay my eyes (or hands) on. And then I watched a whole lot of television. Do not mind the naysayers; you can learn as much from television as you can from books. Some people are imaginative while others are visual. I think it is unfair to expect everyone to learn like you. Anyway, I learned and opened my mind to the possibilities that lay beyond my immediate environment. I knew what a pizza was (even though I only recently had one. Hey! Don’t laugh!) and I could vividly describe cities I had never been to, people I had never met and events I could only aspire to attend. If you didn’t know that at that time, I had never even left Kaduna, you would have thought I was well travelled and very knowledgeable. So the more I learned, the more people were willing to be friends with me. Well, some said I was funny but I don’t think so. Anyway, while I wasn’t a rich kid, I was gradually becoming a popular kid and best of all, a ‘cool kid’. Then I got cocky. I began to measure people and choose my friends based on how ‘intelligent’ they were. I must clarify that I don’t necessarily mean ‘book smart’. I chose friend who knew stuff that was cool; like Kenny who producing music at age 13, or Nathaniel who made innovative stuff from bad electrical appliances or Shayo who could make you laugh with the most mundane things ever. I also chose friends who knew a lot of bad things (*wink). Soon enough, I was friends with almost everyone. That however didn’t stop me from mentally correcting them when I thought they goofed. It happened with everyone; friends, family, people I had a bone to pick with and those I had nothing to do with. I was so cocky in my ‘intelligence’ that I became blind to my flaws. I needed that chip pulled the hell off my shoulders and you can bet life was willing to play bad cop. The first chisel to my inflated sense of importance was my grades in school. You see, all through primary and secondary school, I didn’t need to read too hard to come out top of my class. All I needed to do was attend lectures and I was smooth sailing. Then I got to the university. I was so confident in myself that I didn’t even go to class. Then my first semester result came out. What a wawu! I knew I had goofed. Instead of correcting my mistakes, I buried myself in even further. I was at every social event and partying into the early morn. My results kept getting worse. When I finally got the party girl tamed, the deal had been done. Now, while school results are not a true test of intelligence, it would have been good to apply myself to my books. I graduated poorly – don’t worry, I will give you the full gist someday – but my mind was open to the possibility that I was not as intelligent as I thought I was after all. Then I got a job on radio. I was an on-air-personality shaping the minds of listeners in Yola, Adamawa State. Apart from my problem with ‘R’ – damn you letter ‘R’ – I thought I was fantastic on air. Yes, that was told to me a couple of times but even if it wasn’t, I would still have felt fantastic. And no; it wasn’t self-confidence. After a year doing what I love, we had a training on Presentation from a consulting firm that is a really big deal in the country. Our trainer listened to us on air and told us that our pronunciations were barely there (at best) and horrible at worst. She said even the best of us
Dealing With Body Shaming
Hi. So let us talk about my weight gain, shall we? In the past few months, I have put on more of those pounds in some areas I like (wink) and in some I don’t. At the beginning of the year, I was a size 14 and now, I am a size 16. This has meant getting bigger clothes, worrying about not being able to tuck in my belly anymore and generally feeling out of sorts with them Christian mother upper arms. That is where the rosy stuff ends. Imagine that this is what I call rosy. Few weeks ago, I went out to get something for breakfast and this okada rider whom I have known for a while was passing by. I said hello and continued on my way. The man stopped his okada and said hello. I saw that he wanted to tell me something so I went back to hear him out. I assumed what he wanted to tell me must be pretty important because he was willing to waste the time of his customer to talk to me. He looked at me and said, ‘Do you know that you have multiplied? You are so fat now oh! E be like say this Buhari regime no dey affect you. This fatness too much na!’ I was shocked beyond words. My eyes flitted to the passenger, who looked as embarrassed as I was. The woman started pinching him to get him to go his way (or maybe shut up) but he remained put. I turned back to him and said, I knew. I started walking away again when he spoke; and this time, a little louder. ‘But you dey exercise bah?’ I laughed about it and asked why I should. The man didn’t understand that the laughter was forced and my embarrassment great. He tried to say something else but this time, I turned and walked away. I was, in all honesty, ashamed of what I had gone through. This man, who is just a face I know, whom I have never had a conversation with beyond cursory greetings, felt he had the right to tell me that I had multiplied. I was so hurt that I stewed for days about the incident. I kept telling myself that he was unimportant and didn’t deserve the time I spent thinking about his affront but the gall of it all kept me bothered. When I finally stopped thinking of the man, I got an even more annoying treatment. I went to an evening service in church about a month ago. For the first time in months, I wore a short sleeved dress. At the end of service, two church ‘friends’ cornered me, one on my right and the other on my left. I was between rows so I was totally cornered. While one was asking what I was eating that was making me so fat, the other wrapped her palms around my upper arms, showing me that her two palms couldn’t go all the way around my Christian mother hands. She went further to shake my hand so she could see that flabby skin jiggle. For the first time in my life, anger wasn’t my go-to emotion; shame was. Tears gathered in my eyes and I faked a laugh to cover up my hurt. Recently, I put up a picture – the one above – on Instagram and someone wrote, ‘Ha ahn! You have put on so much weight’ and sealed the statement with sad smiley faces. After about a minute, the person deleted the post, probably realizing how they sounded and feeling contrite. The thing is, though the comment was deleted, I had seen it! I couldn’t un-see the comment and un-feel the hurt that came from reading the person’s disappointment at my weight gain. Couple that with the numerous comments on Facebook from ‘friends’ who feel they need to remind me that ‘you were more beautiful when you were slimmer. Better watch your weight oh!’ and I finally broke. My self confidence level dropped. Who am I kidding? It was in free fall! And though I know I am a size 16, which is only slightly bigger than what goes for ‘normal’ in our society, the fat shaming left me wondering if my weight was that repulsive. Thing is, I used to always be a confident girl. I was never one to bow to pressure and do what everyone expects. I always love to do me and be me and live as I want. That being said, the last few months have chipped off some of that confidence. I may be strong and portray the sticks-and-stones persona but I am admitting that fat shaming words have hurt me. Let me tell you how bad it got. Since 2012, I have been more of a recluse than a bubbly socialite. I started enjoying my own company better than hangouts with people so I kept to myself more. As my confidence level dropped, I became an even bigger recluse. I could stay at home for an entire week without so much as stepping to the gate. I didn’t want people to constantly tell me that I am so fat and blah. And because my confidence level dropped, my stuttering increased. Yes, I bet you didn’t know I stutter. This means that when I am out in public, I keep wondering if people are looking at me wondering about my weight. And because I was thinking of it, I remained silent instead of the good talker that I used to be. This made the depression I was feeling from being out of work even more profound. I could go on and on but I will stop here. I don’t want to lose my street cred. Why am I doing this? It is quite simple. When I did a similar post on my body being your problem, many people sent me mails telling me how I inspired them to deal with body shaming. They told me my confidence
Should I Quit My Job?
Image: Google Plus Let me start by making this broad statement; I believe that many people are sick and tired of their jobs! Yeah! I said it! I can also go further to make another broad statement. It doesn’t matter whether you are working for someone or you are your own boss: there comes a time when everyone feels their job sucks! And not just the I-hate-my-job-but-I-will-manage kind of suck but the I-hate-my-job-and-desperately-want-to-quit type. I have been at both places. When I went to serve in Yola, Adamawa State, Nigeria, I was the doe-eyed optimist who believed that I had the Midas touch. I believed I could always find something to do. And true to that, I got something to do barely three months into my stay in Yola. I started ‘working’ at a broadcast media firm. By October that year, a little over 8 months after I started ‘doing stuff’ for the company and the month I finished my service, I was co-opted into their system; I received my first pay as a freelance presenter. For me, it was doing what I loved. I was on radio and I was increasing my sphere of influence. The fact that they were paying me was a plus. Even though the pay was not great, or even good, I was excited doing what I loved. I woke up every day with a burning desire to do well, to be better than I was the previous day, to achieve better than I had done in the past and to dish out new information in newer and more innovative styles. I made sure that my shows were well researched and different from what was the norm at the station. I wanted people to hear a playlist and just know that Ramat was on duty. I wanted my own signature and I worked really hard to ensure I got it. I soaked up all the information I could get from my friends and colleagues and from rival stations in my quest to standout. As long as there was information to be learned about radio program production, you can be sure that I was learning it. As I improved my skill, I took up more and more work until I was spending almost all day at the office. I wanted a scenario where my work would stand out so well that the company would have no choice but to fully employ me; instead of just paying me for my shows. A year went by and I wasn’t given an appointment letter. The disillusionment started to set in. Was I not good enough? Did I not meet the requirements? Did I just have an over-inflated view of my capabilities? These questions plagued me and made me unhappy and unfulfilled. The love for my work gradually began to wane and my passion started to die. This made me take up even more work. I felt like I needed to do more and give more to be good enough for the company. My bosses would praise me for the ‘good work’ I was doing, random people would see me on the streets and appreciate me and some would even pay for my stuff in the market. In spite of all these, the full employment still didn’t come. Here I was living in a backwater town that was so far from all I knew and held dear and to whom I was giving my all and yet, I couldn’t even get employment. Soon enough, resentment began to build up. It came to a place where my self-worth was tied to whether I got a letter or not. You can imagine how bad my life became. I kept sending out job applications but had become so busy at the office that when I got called for interviews, I couldn’t go. This was because my responsibilities were as though I was a full staff of the organization; though my pay grade was notthat of a staff. I was worried that I would lose the little I had in the process of finding something better. I was also worried about the economic situation of the country and when I thought about how many of my friends didn’t have jobs, I just stayed put. And felt trapped. The more I felt trapped, the less happy I was with my job. I kept wondering if I should quit my job and pursue something else or continue to hold on, hoping for a day when my bosses felt I was good enough to be employed. After three years of the same routine and no letter of appointment, I knew I had to borrow myself some sense. For whatever reason, the company didn’t think keeping me was a priority and I knew I couldn’t keep on working like a donkey and getting very little pay. So I knew I had to leave. I couldn’t continue to give a lot of my time, money and energy to a company that didn’t value me. In June of 2016, I packed up my stuff and left Yola for good. I realized I was not the only one with such stories. One of my besties was also going through issues like this. While it was my choice to be overworked, she was forced to work overtime every day and wasn’t paid as much as her work demanded. Recently, she found out that her boss paid members of his staff who were his tribe more than he did her. Truth is, she worked way more than others and was the most trustworthy staff. Finding out she earned way less than her colleagues really broke her spirit. She was at that crossroad where she wondered whether to continue to stay or to leave the company. Another lawyer friend got to that crossroad and walked away from the firm that was overworking him. It wasn’t that the pay wasn’t good but that he wasn’t just growing there. He knew that he could do more, be more, and achieve more if he just wasn’t working with that firm.
