When I was younger, I seamlessly accepted the quasi-adult-parent status required of a Nigerian daughter because I had to. That meant I got amazing grades at school and cleaned up around the house after people. To this day, I remember being banished to the kitchen to wash our family's epic brunch mornings. I would have to clean all the pots, plates, cups, silverware plus the dining room, kitchen and floors while everyone else was ki-ki-ing in the living room enjoying themselves. Those hoes weren't loyal.
Anyway, one day, all of us kids were on our way to church when we assembled into our family van (a requirement if you have more than 3 kids). Because seniority is a big thing in Nigerian culture, I would sit in the front. But this one day, I realized that this meant that I'd be stuck doing a bunch of tasks for my mom and that I was also easy access to a quick disciplinary pop if I was quick with the lip. So, I graciously gave up this "opportunity" and moved my ass to the back of the bus (okay it was a van). Problem solved. Champion level achieved.
You know what I realized in that back row? For the first time in my life I got a small dose of what it felt like to not "have to." It sounds messed up, but when that's all you do your entire life, you start to revel in these little moments of "I only have to think about me." This is so pivotal when you are reared to think your needs come second to others. As a natural people pleaser (I'm a girl, in a Nigerian family, and I'm the oldest... I was low-key/high-key trained to be), I finally got the chance to think about my needs.
I would read eons of books in the back seat. I would imagine these wonderful futures for myself. I would sleep. I mean sleep is a commodity when you're house is on 10 because of all the people in it.
We'd get back to the house and we'd pile out of the van and I'd return to the oldest-female-child responsibilities. (And I recognize, my mom needed me.) But on those family car rides to church, or parties, or the grocery store, that backseat gave me a little bit of peace. Some me time to learn about myself. And it was glorious.
Anyway, one day, all of us kids were on our way to church when we assembled into our family van (a requirement if you have more than 3 kids). Because seniority is a big thing in Nigerian culture, I would sit in the front. But this one day, I realized that this meant that I'd be stuck doing a bunch of tasks for my mom and that I was also easy access to a quick disciplinary pop if I was quick with the lip. So, I graciously gave up this "opportunity" and moved my ass to the back of the bus (okay it was a van). Problem solved. Champion level achieved.
You know what I realized in that back row? For the first time in my life I got a small dose of what it felt like to not "have to." It sounds messed up, but when that's all you do your entire life, you start to revel in these little moments of "I only have to think about me." This is so pivotal when you are reared to think your needs come second to others. As a natural people pleaser (I'm a girl, in a Nigerian family, and I'm the oldest... I was low-key/high-key trained to be), I finally got the chance to think about my needs.
I would read eons of books in the back seat. I would imagine these wonderful futures for myself. I would sleep. I mean sleep is a commodity when you're house is on 10 because of all the people in it.
We'd get back to the house and we'd pile out of the van and I'd return to the oldest-female-child responsibilities. (And I recognize, my mom needed me.) But on those family car rides to church, or parties, or the grocery store, that backseat gave me a little bit of peace. Some me time to learn about myself. And it was glorious.