Archive for July 2013
Be Back
Hey ya,
I'm sorry I have to leave una for
a short while. Have my dissertation deadlines to meet and it's getting very
crazy. I mean, I even dream of the dissertation when I sleep! I sleep at
midnight, wake up by 6am to do mummy duties, and then am fagged out and can't seem to
think straight. Panicking too as submission deadline approaches. This akwukwo
business eh. I must be a glutton for punishing for wanting to do more of this.
Anyway, remain blessed and I
shall be back soonest!
Ciao
Mixing Career and Marriage
When I was in my undergraduate, there was this lecturer I admired.
She is pretty, shapely (proper Yoruba hips and ass!! Uh hmmm!), and married to
an Igbo man. She was the head of department at the time I was in my final year
and I asked for her to be my supervisor. I liked her like that. Anyway, since
graduating, we have kept in contact. Whenever I'm at the Uni, I often try to go
say hi to her. And she acted as referee for the two MSc applications I put in
for (I was rejected for one – London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine
[they said I didn't have sufficient experience] and accepted for the other – my
present school). Now that I have been trying to get all my documentations and
selling points together for the PhD application, I once again needed her help.
And so I called her.
The first question she asked, after she had heard me out, was
whether MM lived in London with us. I said no. And she said if I was sure I
wanted to do this PhD, in yet another country far away from my husband. And I
said yes. She said I should know that men are one kind, especially young men.
That I shouldn't be pursuing career and lose my home. Then she asked if I pray
(I don't really, but I needed her help and I wasn't about to make her think I
was some heathen) & how it was absolutely crucial that I commit my husband
to the secret place of the Most High and that I need to step up my game and be
very prayerful.
Now, this is a woman I respect very much. She is an assistant
professor. At the time I called her, she was in Abuja for an official visit.
So, she is not lounging around in her home, living her life just praying for
her husband who is out there in the mean, bad world, & doing nothing else. Also,
I know she held national positions in one or two associations she is part of. Slothful
she is not. I know this is definitely a friendly concern, from an older person
to a younger person. Still, was I surprised by it? A little bit, yes. I kind of
expected since she is not doing badly herself, she would definitely recognise
the passion that propels a woman to want to succeed despite all that may stand
in her way. But, I suppose she wanted me to be aware that there are risks women
face in the pursuit of their careers, risks that men don't. And, as a friend
said, she may be speaking from experience; marriage is hard and certain things
strain it more. Nonetheless, it’s still a little bit sad to hear that from her,
is all. It's like there is a hidden law for women: want a career? Great! Just
don't be too radical. Don't rock the boat too much. A woman can endure it from
a man, but it doesn't go the other way round.
I always say to single women in Nigeria who love to complain about
how everything they have ever achieved is devalued because they are not
married. I don't know, would they rather be held back from achieving anything
because they are married? I strongly believe the best time to make your mark in
life is when you are single and young. ’Cause, you think society is holding you
back now? Ha! Ha! Just wait! Did I ever tell you guys how I was asked during a
job interview if my husband was aware that I wanted this job? If he was going
to be okay with the traveling component of it? Yep, that's you get along with
the ring.
Right now, my family is going, “when are you going to have another
child? When are you going to have another child?” When I have two kids I have
to drag across cities and continents (unfortunately not in jets like Angelina
Jolie and Victoria Beckham), they would probably be the first to scream,
"give these children stability!" Again I don't know, I just don't
think career is easy for a woman, married or single. And this is irrespective
of the state of your home, if you are married. Loads of people (some well
meaning, some aproko-driven) drinking Panadol for the headache they are sure
you have, or that is on the way.
It's all good, though.
Ciao
Feeling Too Big
Bomboy and I have been living with my mom
since we moved to the UK. It is cheaper – no rent (MM is already carrying
plenty load with that £700/month day care/nursery we saddled on our neck, which is
almost N210k/month if we do the money conversion. Our Naira no get value chaaaaaa!) Also, living with family meant I
had help with bomboy – this I felt was mostly for mouth and that’s as much as I am
willing to say on that for now since as I can’t look a gift horse in the mouth. So
anyway, for nine months I have lived with family and as you would expect,
disagreements berekete. For the most part, it hasn’t been terrible. You vex,
you calm down; life continues. But, for three weeks in June, it got a little
serious. It started with my mom and during that period we weren't speaking. But
the one with my sister kinda went over the top and pretty real damage was done.
Next thing, a family meeting was called with my mom’s pastor in attendance.
Everyone sha let off steam from their chest and nasty accusations
were thrown all around. We are mostly all good now – peace is jejely
returning.
However, there was something mom said when it
was her turn to throw mud. She said I felt big. Was it because I was in my
master’s program, is that why I can’t show her the respect she deserves as my
mother? Her grievance? That I hadn’t come to her to make peace those weeks
she stopped speaking to me. To be honest, I knew that’s what she expected. But
I was mad with her, and felt since she was clearly at fault, why shouldn’t she
apologise? That African method of the child always being wrong no matter what
just didn’t fly with me, and I was determined to stand my ground. But, that’s
not what I want to talk about today. Rather, I want to focus on the feeling big
business.
I really can’t wrap my head around her belief
that I considered a master’s program so acclaimed that I would suddenly think
myself the cat’s meow. One of the places I intern, virtually all the staff are
postgraduates. It seems as if that with a masters, I would be starting at the deep end of my career prospects. I mean when folks are PhD holders with years and years of research and
publication, what is a master's? I am a complete novice, a beginner. In fact, being in junior
management back in Nigeria, I felt far more in control of my life than I feel
here. I have now vied off administration – something I did for seven years – and
come into a different area with very limited experience. Big is the last thing
I feel. Actually, I have never combated self-doubt and feelings of utter
failure since adolescence like I have had to these past months. The only reason
I hadn't sought the help of a psychologist much earlier is because that Naija part of me
still kinda equated it to mental illness. And of course, not having the funds
for a shrink is big part of that reluctance, not being entirely sure what is covered by my free NHS service.
Secondly, I only counted this postgrad
as an achievement once, and that was when I was asking my mom why she never
highlights my positive attributes but keeps recounting my failings. I pointed
out to her that I had been the first of her children to get into the university,
graduate from it, find a job, and now begin a master’s. I added that I
wasn’t just stopping there, but was actively making efforts for a PhD. I was
like, what do I do for you to acknowledge areas I have done well?
Yes, I talk about getting a PhD a lot on this
blog. For those who may not understand why and probably are wearing the same
glasses as my mom, let me expose myself a little. I am someone who believes
that things don’t come to her easily. I keep waiting to be proved wrong, but I
keep being disappointed. When you feel as I do that you always have to fight for
everything you get, you somehow look for the strength to continue in the fight
for as long as you can. That’s because you often feel like giving up with every
door you hoped would open but doesn’t. With every time your self-esteem takes
a beating, you question if you hadn't overvalued your abilities. With every
exam result or application response that comes out less than expected, the message you deduce from it is: sorry, you’re not good enough. You deal with these over and over, and you wonder, "shouldn’t I just
give up torturing myself so?" Wouldn’t my life be easier, happier if I didn’t
have to keep pushing on? You want to quit, but you know that it would hurt like
a bastard. Because not only that people have weighed you and found you wanting,
you have done the same to yourself. I don’t know about some people, but living
would be difficult if I ever accepted to myself that, “you know what, you won’t
amount to much after all.” So, that’s why I go on and on about this PhD. It’s a reminder to
myself that I have to keep pushing. Yes, it may not give me the career
fulfilment that has remained elusive to me. It may not get me that World Bank
or UN job. It may not make me an important person, no matter the capacity. But
I think, if I have it, I could look at myself and say, “you wanted something; you
went after it despite the odds, and you got it!” I need that. Well, until my next project of course.
So anyway, back to this talk about me feeling
big. I think really, when people move into a different level in their lives –
be it marriage, parenthood, career advancement – there is always that risk that someone would feel this ‘accomplishment’ has boosted their confidence and disillusioned them about
their place in the world. That is why a friend will say to you, “is it because
you are married/engaged/in a committed relationship, you think you can advise
me about men.” If the two friends had been on equal footing, the advice
wouldn’t take the hidden meaning it has now taken. But because something has
changed for one, it suddenly is a matter of, "who the hell do you think you are?” I am not
going to lie and say I have never been the person thinking someone has grown
bigger than their breeches. I’m too human not to. Envy is a natural reaction.
Although I have felt it, I’ve mostly refrained from acting on it (okay, maybe it’s
slipped out of me once or twice).
I was disappointed to be accused of feeling too big, because lord knows I have too much demons am battling per time to ever
enjoy any success. But, folks generally have their opinions and you can’t kill
them for it.
Ciao.
Turns Out I May Have Bipolar Disorder
I went for counselling
today. Actually, I had booked for counselling sometime last year when we first moved
to London and I found myself breaking down in tears one day on the road to
school. I didn’t follow through with that appointment, though. The instant I
felt a little better, I decided, “fine, now back to normal grinds of life.”
This time around, however, I decided I was going ahead to attend the session. I
felt I had been struggling to self-manage depression for so many years,
and it wasn’t getting easier or better to handle. I didn’t know what to expect
going in really. I guess I mostly had images in my head of American TV shows or
movies. You know, patients lie on the couch and the shrink jots down
‘delusional’ on their pad while always keeping an eye on the clock. I’m happy
to announce that it was nothing of that sort at all. There was no couch (a
stiff chair, yes) and no jotting bespectacled psychologist. The counsellor did
maintain eye contact throughout, and it was nice – in a way. It was a 40 minutes
appointment, and expectedly, family dirt was dug up. There was no tears – okay, very minimal (I’m
a cry baby), but I didn’t leave there a wretch, which is a relief.
Although she wasn’t sure,
the counsellor felt I might have bipolar disorder. She thinks if indeed I do
have that, is quite very mild, which is why I haven’t taken it more seriously.
She did say I’ve done a decent enough job self-managing over the years and
developed my own survival strategies – constantly seeking for projects and more
or less living in the future, that sort of thing. This first part scared me, thankfully
the latter was very reassuring to hear. I can’t take all the credit though. We
Naija people don’t take depression seriously. You’re either mad or you’re
not. So, if you’re not mad, you get on
with life like everybody else. There is never a shortage of well-meaning folks
impatiently waiting for you to “get over it”, “snap out of it” or the most
helpful response I’ve ever gotten so far, “please, try and be happy” to my confession
that I was deeply unhappy. Believe me, nobody wishes they could “snap out of”
depression more that the person suffering it. If they could they would. But, I
don’t know. I’ve lived with reoccurring and persistent depression for so long,
I may need to learn to live without it should the scheduled next six sessions
with the psychologist prove successful.
On a related note, it’s
probably an area too ‘foreign’ for our ailing Nigerian healthcare system to
handle right now, but I believe mental health gets absolutely no attention in
Nigeria. When it does, it’s mostly in the negative – journalists shamelessly
addressing people as ‘lunatics’ in their headlines, for an example. So for me,
it is a good opportunity that I shall get to have some experience working in
mental health while I’m here. From the 15th of this month, I would
be doing some work at different inpatient and community mental health settings
across four boroughs in London. We had the training on what to expect, and I
won’t lie, it was frightening. But like I have learnt, both from my program and
from my research in diabetes, it’s extremely important to see the person, and
not the disease.
Ciao.