REMEMBER ME...

When I was a kid I had one bad habit that set me out from the rest of my peers; I didn’t greet people. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to say Good Morning or Good Afternoon to my elders as I passed them by but I always seemed to forget. Nosy neighbours would come to my mum complaining about how I always passed them by on the street without acknowledging them with a greeting. My mum tried, she really did but there was simply nothing she could do to help me inculcate the habit of greeting. So with time when people on the street wanted to refer to me, they would say “that chemist’s daughter that doesn’t greet”. That was how they remembered me when they left and that is the image I had impressed on them.

One day, when I was about nine years old I saw an artist at work. My mum and I were passing through Aguda when I took a glance to the left and saw this young man painting just in front of his shop. I was stunned, electrified and intrigued. He seemed to be in a trance, paying no heed to passersby on the street, or the annoying noise of the disk jockey across the street blasting Nigerian music at an outrageously loud volume, or the loud honking of impatient drivers stuck in traffic. He was trapped in solitude… his fingers moved with grace across the canvas, his brows were deep in concentration and smeared with sprinkles of sweat, his back bent very low to give his fingers the finesse needed to paint the image he had in his head. It was in one word… beautiful. In that moment… I wished that I had the ability to paint an image of all the thoughts in my mind, I wished that I could steal his ability to loose himself in something that he loved… I wished I could give colors and life to things that people can only think of… but I can’t and he could and from that moment on I have always had a high regard for people who give life to non-living things through the heart displayed in their images. That one experience with an artist who didn’t even know how much he had impacted upon me will always make me remember him as …. The young creator in a trance.

When I was in secondary school in Kogi State, I met a Corp member who helped me understand the need for national service. We called her Corper Anita, she was beautiful, wore her small rimmed glasses on the tip of her nose, was always smartly dressed and walked with an air of seriousness and purpose that I always admired. I had the wrong image of the NYSC prior to her, believing that it was a waste of national resources and time that didn’t serve any purpose but over the course of the one year when she taught us economics she became a role model for me. She took her job seriously; even though her home was in Lagos, she worked hard and helped the students in any way she could. I never had any direct interactions with her but her attitude towards national service made me decide that I was going to do this when the time came… teach others what I have learned and accept my posting with grace. I will always remember her as the cute corper who helped me understand that numbers and figures (mathematics) are only my enemies if I let them.

Yesterday while rushing to the cinema to see a movie I got into a taxi driven by an elderly man. He was very chatty and amicable but what struck me about him was his contentment. He was bouncing his head and humming to some wizkid songs playing on the radio while he drove me to berger junction. I looked at this man and for a moment I was filled with panic. Panic at the thought that I could be content with a humble existence where the only goal will be to pay the bills and see the next day in one piece. Panic at the thought that my life will not take off in the way I want it to. Panic at the thought of dying without people hearing all that I have to say. What scares me the most though are three things

Living my life in fear

Living a life that makes God regret making me

And dying without true peace

I want the world to remember me even after am gone as the black African feminist blogger who was not afraid to speak her mind or live her life.

I want women to remember me as one of those who helped them to see that sometimes our voice is the only weapon we have in the battle for emancipation and empowerment.

I want my friends to remember me as a solid rock of support who was always quietly there for them.

I want my enemies to remember me as the one who they never had a thing on despite their best efforts.

I want my family to remember me for the person that I have been… loving, consistent and fierce.

I want those who read this blog to remember me as the young woman who always pushed the boundaries of the black and white image they had of what is right and wrong.

How can we say we have truly lived if we do not leave behind footprints in our stead that can’t be washed away… How can we die tomorrow without accomplishing something that we left as a legacy.

How can be content with servitude and an ordinary life when there is so much more we can do.

Remember me always as three things… grateful, fearless and original…

Think long and hard people… what do you want to be remembered for?