My God! Who the heck is Dan Brown?! Okay that’s him. But that guy is amazing!!! I just finished reading “The Lost Symbol” and Green Peeeeaaaassss! It was awesoooommmeee!!! Unputdownable! Ungoandweeweeandcomebacktocontinuereadingable! Ungoandsleepandcontinuereadinginthemorningable!
Glorious! Fireworks! Spark! Spark! Spark! I know! So many exclamations but it’s Dan Brown! His mind! My word! I just want to make that mind into a dress and wear it to the Oscars. So drop-dead. By the way, this book has nothing whatsoever to do with the article I’m about to write but I just had to share with someone. By the way, look for the series, the Robert Langdon series, and I do not care if books bore you, you will read these books or we will stop being friends… which by the way is what I want to talk about. No silly, not about how we will stop being friends (you see why you need Dan Brown?). Friends. That’s what we are talking about.
Okay, straight into it. I have always been a people person. In fact I grew up a people-pleaser (not something I’m awfully proud about but there are no secrets between us so, I’ll tell you) and some aspects of my character still accede to this claim. Although… I have discovered… I’m beginning to give less and less of a damn. Hmm… Wait. Oh my God! It’s happening. I’m turning into a “notgiveadamner”. Oh God! THANK YOU! Oops! Sorry. Did it again. Forgive my constant drifts but if by now you have not noticed that I have a touch of ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) then you’re slow mehn.
Sha sha before I go on with my article, I am terribly sorry I haven’t written in a while. Well, not that I haven’t written but you just haven’t seen them here. Okay, honesty zone, I kinda actually haven’t written in a while. Pfft! It’s not like you can come and beat me. Hehe 😛
Now, to the business of the day, because I grew up being a people-pleaser, which typically meant I did everything, many times to my detriment and inconvenience, to make people around me “happy” so they could “like me”;
Life sucked. I desperately needed and wanted to change especially with the gospel around me that said: “you don’t need people”, “learn to be independent” ad infinitum. I admired people who seemed strong, independent and “I can do good (/bad as the case may be) all by myself-ish” I wanted to be them. I wanted to be the “hard as nails”, “stoic as rock” kinda person. I wanted to be the hybrid you get when you cross-breed Annalise Keating with Queen Ravenna plus a heavy overdose of their matriarch Queen Cersei. I wanted to be tough, unsmiling and “unneeding” of people. I wanted to be a “bad bitch” (although I have to say here that how the b-word evolved from being an insult to being an accolade is totally lost on me).
Sadly, life isn’t the movies and my size isn’t exactly cut out for “bad bitchism”. It was many years and several stages of maturity later, with the benefit of hindsight, that I was able to understand that wanting to be a bad bitch was wanting to be a bad dog which translates to wanting to be a dog which translates to being a subordinate that has to “sit” for the rest of her life and answer to the name “Muriel” (I don’t believe anybody in my readership bears that name and if you do, like really? Muriel?? Gaan do change of name da allah!).
(Before I go on, I feel like I need to deeply apologize to the Association of Bad Bitches for the transliteration of their association’s name. It’s just for the purpose of the article. Please, no hard feelings. The part of never wanting to be a bad bitch, though, that part is true. No offence.)
Yes, dogs can be cute, adorable, man’s best friend and unbelievably smart but the reason you would say a dog is smart is because it can take orders or do tricks (which actually means taking more orders). When I hear people say “I don’t need people” these days, I’m always like, “wow! You sound just like a bad bitch/dog that needs to be told to ‘sit!’ Really, come and have several seats. You sound incredibly small.”
There is no one who does not need friends in this world. I don’t mean minions that do your dirty job. I mean friends, people who know that your primary school math teacher, who also doubled as your mum, still frightens the heck outta you and then make your life miserable for it.
I tell people this every time they propose the illogical point that all they need is God and no one else: God ain’t stupid and He’s probably shaking His head wondering where you got your “unique” (I hope you can see the sarcasm dripping from that adjective) line of reasoning from cos it doesn’t run in the family. Listen, if God wanted an exclusive relationship with all of us in the strictest sense of the word, it wouldn’t take Him an ounce of strength to speak about 7 billion planets into being and place each of us on a separate planet. Duh, it’s not that hard. He’s God. So till you can create an entire planet on your own, place it within the right proximity to the sun, give it its own satellite among other things, pack your kaya and relocate there to be “alone with God”, get this into your cranium: you need friends. Maybe not a million but can we just start with 2 or 3, brethren? Please?
I know being a bad bitch is cool but remember that a bitch is ultimately a dog so mathematically,
Bad bitch = bad dog
Bad dog = well… bad dog
Bad dog = dog
From our previous knowledge of dogs, we can deduce from the above equations that
1. Dogs always sit!
2. Bad dogs always go to the naughty corner or wear the cone of shame or here in Naija, get an ass-whooping without food (which is usually a terrible mish-mash of leftovers and bones, anyway. so, it might just be as well).
Honey, come here, sit down. *pats a seat beside me for you*. No matter how smart a bitch is, it will remain the bitch never the master. It will always be told to sit. It will always be ordered around. It will only be called smart because it knows how to take orders and perform tricks made for the circus. It won’t make it to the boardroom, or the House of Parliament. (although it can make it to the Nigerian Senate house. That place is a joke). For you to transmogrify from a bad bitch to a bad boss, you need friends, a network, people. You need your gang. a clique of the right people. In my next post, I will try to analyse the peeps your gang should, of a necessity, contain. But just before I round off this piece, let me give you this story. True life not super story.
One of the things on my bucket list, was to watch a pregnant woman that wasn’t me birth a child. I thought it was going to be the most beautiful thing ever. At least that was what the movie writers said (pfft, Steven Spielberg ko more like Steven LIEberg. Mtcheeewww). Spoiler alert: they lied. It wasn’t. I couldn’t even watch. It was scary. (insert scared emoji).
Anyway, this was what I noticed when the baby was on the way: this woman was actually at the entrance to the hospital which had a concrete floor, number one. And people (men and women) were all around (it was the entrance to the hospital, so…), number two. As the baby inched closer to the world, this woman lay, or more like crumpled, on the hard, concrete floor with her legs thrown east and west like a wind vane trying to tell the general populace in front of her where the wind was blowing in from. (Note: there was no breeze that night). Her “yee!” (lol. typical Yoruba woman. No offence to the yoruba’s though) practically tore the night air to shreds. She did not care. She needed help. All the money in the world couldn’t help her then. Okay what if she was ready to pay and all the nurses and doctors and mid-wives still turned her down? What if they say they are nor doing? Is it the money that will turn to doctor and nurse and born the baby? You get the picture bah?
See, at that point what was coming out of her, the urgency, the need to birth that baby was tremendously greater than any other feeling. She wasn’t thinking about looking good or being a bad/good bitch. There was something she needed to birth! She wasn’t thinking of being an independent woman, heck! She couldn’t even afford to be independent. There was something she needed to birth! The whole world was waiting on her to deliver. Whether or not she needed help wasn’t her choice to make anymore. The baby had made that choice for her. She needed people.
The reason some people still think that they do not need people is because they are yet to grow up and adjust to the fact that the world is waiting on them to deliver that thing that is in them and you cannot do it without people. Okay, say you do it all by yourself and you deliver and there isn’t anyone to utilize that idea that you developed what’s now the “ere” (benefit) inside? An idea is only as good as the entities that are better off because of its existence. So, anyway, you turn around and look at it, you need people. It’s the circle of life.
I will further analyse this my near-birth experience in my next post but let me end with this: one of the quickest ways to know someone without dreams is when a person says: “I don’t need people” and actually means it. He’ll fail. He’ll fail so bad the only thing he’ll succeed at is redefining the boundaries of failure.
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