Category: Reflections

Categories
Reflections vulnerability

A Tribute to My Father, Edwin St. Edison Onyejieke Okolie

Mr Edwin St. Edison Onyejieke Okolie
Transitioned: 20 July 2025. Burial: 3 January 2026

‘Ifunanya, daddy anwuola’ 
was the first announcement of your death, through Newman 
a memory that still sends shivers down my spine whenever I try not to think about it.

Those words, marked by shock, disbelief, trepidation, and fear, 
sent me into a wave of numbness I have not recovered from. 
My heart is pounding as I write this.

I lean into the Igbo understanding of death, 
searching for anything that tells me 
that you are still here.

Daddy,
you have returned to the earth.
You are in the wind, the sun, 
the rain splattering over my face.
You are in the air I breathe,
the books I read,
and the dreams I accomplish.

I didn’t realise what I had been missing until you transitioned.
I want to do everything ‘right’ now — but it is too late,
too late to do right by you.

Chizoba said you’ve transitioned into a form we cannot explain.
She told me to look at nature
and draw courage from there.
Autumn, fall, winter, summer
are all changing seasons.
Trees, pollination, insects, rivers, birds
how do we account for all of these?
Do I know more than my father’s chi?

My dad was only human. 
How did I never once imagine you could collapse?
Because you were my dad.
Because you were always there
sturdy, steady 
I didn’t see you could break.

I remember the feeling I had
as I stepped my feet into our compound at Ofufe 
after seeing you in the mortuary.
Mawuu said a parent’s death
yanks the ground from beneath one’s feet.
You were not there to welcome us.
Home no longer feels like home.

The sound I heard when I tried 
to move one foot in front of the other
was the sound of the ground beneath me 
crumbling away. 

How can I not feel like a stranger 
in my father’s house
when the earth beneath me has been yanked off?

Shalvah said loss is the accompaniment of love 
that it is better to love and lose
than to never love at all.
Now I understand why people want to go first, 
so they never have to bear the heartache 
of losing the ones they love.

Wouldn’t it be easier
never to have known you at all
than to feel this pounding ache?

But perhaps that’s what Amakanwa meant
when she said, ‘to love with our whole being, 
to give and receive love in all its splendour 
and then to mourn it when it’s taken from us
seems to be part of our fate 
in this incarnation.’

I look for you in many things.
And if I dared to imagine
that I might reflect your essence,
then on the days I look into the mirror
and see even a glimpse of you,
I realise I am my father’s daughter.

I lean into that feeling
still wondering why it took me
so long to recognise your face in mine.

Family photo at a church after a baptism. From left to right: A woman in a green patterned outfit holding a small girl, a man in a white shirt, a woman in white holding a baby, and two young children standing in front.
L-R: Mummy, daddy, and big aunty (my mother’s uncle’s wife), followed by my sister, Ogechi, brother, Newman, and me.
L–R: Uncle Fred and Daddy.
Daddy signing Oge (my sister) and Olumide’s marriage certificate at the marriage registry.
Oge’s wedding – A group photo with family members. Daddy is to the left of Oge, the bride
Oge’s wedding – A photo with the parents of the couple. Daddy is to the left of Oge, the bride
Daddy and his sisters: Aunts Eliza and Vicky

May the Almighty God receive your gentle soul,
May the light of your spirit never fade.
May you find rest where there is no pain,
no burden,
no sorrow.

And when the time comes
for souls to return again,
in forms we may not fully understand,
may you come back renewed,
whole,
and surrounded by love.

May your journey beyond this world be gentle and full of light,
and may your memory continue to guide us.
Amen.

— Ifunanya Okolie,
Always, your daughter.

Categories
Reflections Travel vulnerability

Experiencing Time and Mortality Between Landings

A view through Kenya Airways aircraft's porthole. The scene outside captures a serene horizon with soft hues of orange, yellow, and blue blending at sunrise
I took this photo as I came to after my experience. The serene horizon outside blends soft hues of orange, yellow, and blue at sunrise.

Today, I fainted. Or not.

I do not know what I’ve just experienced; however, it was not good. On the plane from Lagos to Nairobi, I was ready, eager, and anticipating my first visit to the Land of the Big Five, going through the series of events I had experienced with customs and the airport officials in my head.

I had journalled at the boarding gate. This trip was going to be the one that would break me out of my writing hiatus. I would journal every day. I told myself this was not going to be like my Cape Town trip where I felt overwhelmed upon my return because I had experienced a lot and didn’t know where to start.

It was going well. I had started my adventure on the plane with Young Sheldon on the little screen in front of me. I was by the window, and felt very accomplished in how I had managed the whole planning for this trip, from the e-visa to booking my flights, and even checking in online and getting a window seat without paying extra for it. I reached for the rest of my Loacker wafers, pouring the mini biscuits into my mouth with each wave of guilt. When did I start eating sweets? How do I break out of this habit?

My seat partner smiled at me sweetly as she asked where I was from.

‘Nigeria,’ I replied, my voice heavy with caution. This caution stemmed from a sense of self-preservation. At first, I wondered why she was talking to me—did she want something? Why was she being so sweet? It came from receiving countless pieces of advice from family to be wary of strangers, especially when travelling on a plane: to act cautiously with people who seem nice and not let my eyes wander away from my luggage in case they put something in my bag. It was this caution that answered first; the second voice that answered was more intentional.

‘What about you? Where are you from?’

‘Zimbabwe,’ she responded.

Then she turned to the person beside her and spoke a string of sentences in a foreign language. I suspect they came together.

There were only two episodes of Young Sheldon in the programme loaded on the TV. I watched both, then started watching Bob Hearts Abishola while side-eyeing the plane attendants pushing trays of food. I had planned to continue watching my Chinese series, but wanted to eat the food first before using the tray for my laptop. I was also starting to feel sleepy.

I caught myself falling asleep, but woke up immediately to find the food server still walking about the aisle with trays in hand. He had not served my seat yet. I didn’t want a repeat of my Cape Town experience where I fell asleep briefly on the plane from Cape Town to Johannesburg, only to find the server had skipped my seat to serve other people. My seat partner then wasn’t as nice as my seat partner on the plane from Amsterdam to Frankfurt, who shook my shoulders hard to collect my food. Anyway, I digress, but if there’s anything this proves, it’s my love for food, and perhaps maximising the value of every expense I make.

The warm towel came first. I cleaned my hands with it.

The food came next. It was white rice and beef sauce as the main dish, an almost half-serving of yellow cake for dessert, and a wrapped something that looked like bread dipped in white sesame seeds wrapped in cellophane. The smell of the sauce hit me before I saw it, and it didn’t smell like something I would like to eat. Yet, I ate it. Very carefully, I put one beef in my mouth, then another. It tasted awful.

I continued eating: beef, then rice, then sauce. The rice had some black coating on top of it that made it look like the crust of a burnt pot, though I believe, if I had investigated further, I may have found it to be black sesame seeds. I bit into the cake, but I couldn’t take a second bite. I was done with the food. At least, I ate all of the rice and beef, but not the pastries.

I found myself dozing again, then I caught a shadow of my neighbour’s hand handing my tray to a server. I don’t remember anything else until I awoke with the oddest feeling in my body.

My body felt listless and restless, caught between heaviness and a frantic urge to move. It felt as though something had changed in the air, like the air around me had thinned. It started to feel like I wasn’t getting enough air to breathe.

I suddenly became frighteningly conscious of the small space I was in, and needed to reach out for relief. But I wasn’t gasping for air, no. My stomach felt queasy, like something was caught in it and I needed to fart to release it, so I did. Panic clawed at me, insidious. Unrelenting.

I don’t remember why I was holding my stomach and tapping at the window, or why I was incredibly aware of the amount of time it would take to land. I glanced at the clock on my neighbour’s screen—it was 1:35 AM.

Time stretched, distorted.

I brought out my laptop and switched on the show I had downloaded to watch on the flight. Maybe I needed to focus on something else. The characters on the show felt small, and as I focused on their dialogues, the incredible urge to vomit and fart became overwhelming.

I shut my laptop and put it in my bag. The cord connecting my phone to the port on the TV screen was getting in my way, so I yanked it with my phone and threw both in my bag. I didn’t check if my phone’s battery was full. Everything was getting in my way, and the space was becoming incredibly smaller.

Perhaps, walking would make it better. I could get some air, or I might induce myself to vomit. I thought perhaps it was the food I ate, and maybe I was allergic to something in it, so vomiting could make everything better. It took a while for me to stand. I remember standing, then sitting, then experiencing it all again.

I looked to my right to find my seat partners sleeping. I don’t know how long it took me to bring myself to decide to go to the restroom. I tapped on my seat partner’s shoulder, and in a voice so alien from mine, whispered ‘I want to go to the restroom.’

She mumbled something back in a sleepy voice. I don’t remember her standing, but I remember standing, looking at the profiles seated on the plane.

They danced in circles. The world was spinning around me, and everything was beginning to close in on me. I thought if I could just walk to the restroom and put my finger in my mouth, then… 

The next thing I remember, I looked up and saw my seat partner standing, looking quizzically at me. She said something to the other lady about already reaching out to ‘them.’ I don’t know what she was talking about. Then she said to me, ‘Maybe you’d like to sit here.’ ‘Here’ meant the other lady’s seat. I didn’t understand why she’d say that. I looked up again, and cast a lazy glance at where I was and realised I was in my seat partner’s seat. On my way to the toilet, I had slumped in her seat. I also don’t remember how I switched back to my seat.

But I remember falling in and out of sleep after this had happened and thinking, pondering over this experience that drew the life out of me. I sat still for a very long time.

When I awoke, it felt like I had been through something—like something big and unusual had hit me. Whatever it was, it was unsettling. I do not know how someone full of life could be so out of it in an instant. How had everything come undone in such a short moment? I wondered if this was what mortality felt like. An overwhelming awareness of fragility, of how life can falter in an instant. I waited for my breath, for my body to find me again.

The window was closed. I had shut it earlier in frustration. I cast a glance inwardly to gauge how I was feeling. My body was beginning to come back to me. After what felt like hours, I pulled up the window cover slowly.

The hanging clouds felt quietened. Towards the east lay a serene horizon with soft hues of orange, yellow, and blue blending at sunrise. I wondered if morning had come for me as well, as I reached for my phone in my bag to take a snapshot of this promise. Instinctively, I knew we were about to land; the aircraft felt engaged with activity. I glanced at my seat partner—she seemed to be packing up. My hand still searching in my bag, it suddenly registered in horror that my phone was missing. Panic rose as I feared I had lost it in the chaos. My seat partner smiled at me and asked what I was looking for. I said, ‘My phone.’

She offered suggestions of where it might be and asked if I had searched my bag. I stood up, now fully alert, to search the crevices of my seat, but it wasn’t there. With heightened senses, I suspiciously reached for my bag and searched through it again, and found my phone nestled in my laptop pocket.

‘Found it,’ I said tiredly, glancing in my seat partner’s direction. I owed her an explanation of what had happened with me, so I started with an apology. At the time, I didn’t realise the full extent of what had happened from my seat partner’s point of view. I had a faint memory of sitting in her seat. However, after I had offered my apology, she said they were only worried. Apparently, they thought I had just fallen asleep in her seat. When I asked how long I had been out ‘asleep‘ in her seat, she replied, ’10 minutes.’

As I opened my Notes app to journal about this experience, I thought about the fickleness of time. What is time if not a vessel for our experiences, bending and stretching to our perception, yet steadfast and unyielding as the world spins on, indifferent to our moments of stillness, angst or urgency?

This world is indeed ours; each individual experience adds up to the experience of the greater universe, and if not brought into the experience of another by a will of intention, the world spins on, unaffected, unaware of said experience. My seat partner could have become aware of the severity of the situation if the aircraft had landed and I had still not stirred.

‘Have you fastened your seatbelt?’ my seat partner’s voice snapped me back to reality from my wandering thoughts. I glanced down at my lap and noticed my seatbelt was unfastened.

I wore my seatbelt and prepared for landing.

Categories
Reflections

Sixteen Years of Grief and Love

Family photo at a church after a baptism. From left to right: A woman in a green patterned outfit holding a small girl, a man in a white shirt, a woman in white holding a baby, and two young children standing in front.
This photo was taken at St. Cyprian church, Abule Egba, after my sister's baptism. L-R: My mother, father, and big aunty (my mother's uncle's wife), followed by my sister, Ogechi, brother, Newman, and me. My mother, in the green patterned outfit on the left, is holding my sister, Ogechi, who seemed ready to fly off. My big aunty, in white blouse, is holding my baby sister, Chichi.

Years after my mother Uzoyibo died, I was never able to fully process her death. I did not realise the depth of the sorrow I carried in my heart until my visit to Death Cafe, Lagos, in 2017, eleven years after her passing. There, I wailed with so much longing for the woman I may never see again.

I learnt that it is not unusual for someone to take a long time to process the death of a loved one. Sixteen years after my mother transitioned, I still find myself in that process, not fully letting go, and not wanting to let go of her.

Why should I let go? My mother was, and still is, a big part of me. For many years, I felt guilty about her passing, wondering if I could have averted it, and haunted by the turmoil surrounding her death. My mother died in the most horrible way; she died in an accident.

It was a hit-and-run on a dark Friday, October 3rd, 2008. My mother, heavily pregnant and nearing her delivery date, had gone to buy market wares at Nkpor Main Market in Onitsha. She was a trader who sold foodstuffs in Afor Ukpor, our local market. She had also intended to pick up some baby items on her way back.

I only know the rest of the story as it was told to us. She was hit by a driver, drunk and reckless with blood on his hands, as he had taken other lives that same day with his vehicle. My mother was left lying in a pool of her own blood, unattended, as bystanders went about their activities. Nobody dared touch her for fear of being roped into the cause of her death. So, as the minutes ticked by, my mother slowly fought for her life and that of her unborn baby.

I learnt she died in NAUTH. The health professionals wouldn’t treat her without a police report. And as the hours passed, the noise in her head began to quieten, until it stilled.

My mother was the best woman. She was my world. She embodied everything good in the world, and the day she died, something inside me died as well.

My mother was Uzoyibo Clara Okolie, née Egwuchukwu, and I loved her with every fibre of my being. I remember her with every bone in my body and with every breath I take; she is in my thoughts every second of the day.

It is said that ‘grief is love with no place to go,’ and I agree.

Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.

― Jamie Anderson

The following are some of my journal entries that capture the pain I feel for my mother. I have typed them here as I wrote them in my diary.

I grieve

I grieve.
My heart is unsettled
it’s filled with a deep longing.
My head is a mess.
My body feels empty.
I can’t feel my legs,
but the tightening in my chest
tells me of a love that hurts so deeply.
I have experienced heartbreak.
No, I live with heartache.
The spot meant for my heart
is replaced with a deep longing for
the woman I can never have again
in this lifetime.

The worst pain

The worst kind of pain is not physical,
like having a toothache or going through surgery.
The pain from breaking bones can be cured
but not the heartache that comes from remembering.

I remember the passing of a loved one
Sixteen years now, and my soul still shatters at the thought
that I may never see my mother again.

It’s said that time heals all scars
but not mine.
My scar is buried deep inside my heart,
hidden behind layers of calloused skin,
concealed beneath a thin casing of pain
which resurfaces when I need my anchor.
My mother was my anchor.
With her gone, I am but a lost child.

Forgetting

I wonder why I haven’t died of heartbreak.
Dying feels like the cure for this pain,
but I don’t want to forget
because forgetting means erasing the memories of my mother
who she was when she lived.
As though she were never here;
as though she never happened,
no, I don’t want to forget,
yet I wish she were here.

Once, I asked my mother,
‘Mummy, why didn’t you get yourself some clothes too?’
She had just returned from the market
with clothes she bought for us.
‘You are my priority,’ said my mother.
She had only two wrappers then.

Uzoma, Ijeoma.

My mother
whose priority was her children
toiled and worked under the sun
to make ends meet for her family.
How could I forget the woman
whose first words were prayers
and kindness for her children?
She scolded and loved in the same breath
worried and toiled in the next.
My mother took on many responsibilities.
I have never met a person like her.
She was the backbone of her family
and she sacrificed a lot, oh, she did.
I am grateful that I knew her,
but so heart-wrenching was her death,

To the sibling whom I never met
you died with mother
before you could see the world you were coming into.
I hope there is sunshine where you are.
I hope you are both keeping each other company.
Some days, I envy that you are there with her,
for I don’t think I can love another
as I love our mother.

I am sorry that I am only writing to you
Sixteen years after your passing.
There’s no excuse,
but please, keep warm
until my next letter.
I love you.

Categories
Failing well Reflections Slow down vulnerability Work

The Fear We Carry: A Guide to Reclaiming Confidence Through Vulnerability and Action

A group of four people, including myself, are sitting and engaging in a learning conversation in a living room. I am the woman on the left, and the man in the middle has a T-shirt with the words 'Just Slow Down, Give Gratitude, Take Responsibility' written on it.
Chuba, Wemi, Seun, and I are captured during a co-creating session at the Bioverse sanctuary in Lagos by Mohini Ufeli

I’m taking a mini detour from my series on Understanding Responsibility and the Impact of Actions to write on confidence.

It starts with fear. ‘I can’t do it,’ the voice in our head whispers. The mind hesitates and almost stutters out a ‘but…,’ but the voice continues with a more trivial reason ‘I am not tall enough, they need six feet, I’m only 5.6.’ ‘I’m shy.’ ‘I’m socially awkward.’ ‘They’ll come to see me as who I am — the impostor.’

And what’s more, the more we present this person to the world, the more we become it, the ‘socially awkward’ boy, the ‘not tall enough’ girl, ‘the impostor,’ and the list goes on. We are who we say we are.

If I didn’t define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people’s fantasies for me and eaten alive.

Audre Lorde.

I have often dined with fear. It was my default reaction when I faced uncertainties; I know how crippling fear can be when we aren’t sure about anything; I can even describe the taste — salty, metallic, bitter — when fear becomes anxiety. I’ve found that this state of mind often leads to unhealthy reactions to situations.

Fear does not appreciate the light of awareness. When we call fear by its name, we acknowledge its presence, enabling us to approach the situation with vulnerability and proactivity in seeking solutions. Calling the problem its name allows one to start from a place of vulnerability and gratitude and arrive at forgiveness and clarity with trust in oneself.

Fear dampens confidence. When we let fear in, we become our fears, often hindering our ability to function in the presence of struggle. I’ve felt fear varying from ‘what if nobody wants to listen to me?‘ ‘what if I’m unable to provide for my family?’ I’ve found that in most situations, this fear has always been less about myself and more about others and what people will think.

I am careful not to personalise fear, for when I say ‘my fear,’ it becomes true — my fear. Instead, I express it as ‘I feel fear.’ ‘I have a fear.’ ‘The fear I’ve felt.’ This way, I’m acknowledging a state of emotion that isn’t identical with my identity. This approach helps me see this state as a visitor just here to visit, and should be on its way soon.

I have a fear, and I find that when this fear comes up in my head, I become less confident and start to stutter. The people closest to me could write a series about it. Others, however, remain oblivious unless I open up. Then, they struggle to fathom how someone perceived as ‘bold‘ as I could ever be shy.

People see me as extroverted and wonder what I mean when I mention that I struggle with talking. Just being able to articulate my thoughts and express them to others in a large social setting drains my body of energy. A colleague said it was difficult to believe I had such struggles because I didn’t show it, and I responded that I hid it well.

Each time I unmute my microphone, I battle between making my voice ‘heard’ enough and the voices in my head asking – ‘Is my voice strong enough?‘ ‘Am I making sense?‘ ‘Do these people want to listen to me?’ ‘Am I losing them?‘ ‘Uh oh, are they about to interrupt me? Have I stopped making sense?‘

So, when I started the new year, it wasn’t surprising that my journal entry was ‘I will use my voice more.’

I realise it is not easy to tell someone to be brave and confront their fears without telling them how to. The concept of bravery, as explored in my previous work, extends far beyond merely overcoming fear. At that moment, fear is all they can see; it is all that exists. I have been on both sides of the tunnel: the fearful person and the person dishing the advice. We must also remember to listen to ourselves when we dish out these bits of advice.

Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t — you’re right.

Henry Ford

If we surrender to fear, we remain where we are, stranded, stagnant. Someone who is afraid of taking the plunge to study for a new course that would take four years to complete because they think there’s no time is correct.

There’s no time if we say there’s no time. However, four years is always in the future and will eventually come. Start today, and in four years, this person will be on the verge of completion, but start later, and it will still take four years.

The next time the thought of fear comes, slow down to reflect on where you were several years ago. If you could have taken a step toward your goal back then, imagine where you could be now. Now, project yourself into the future and consider if you would regret not starting today. What’s the worst that can happen? Let these reflections spur you to action.

Fear blames because it needs an outlet to move responsibility away from the self. It finds another, who is responsible, constantly referring to the past or someone whose fault it is they can’t take responsibility in the moment.

Fear prolongs suffering.

Fear hinders our progression to the next stage. It presents a situation as ‘the obstacle,’ rather than puzzle pieces. It complicates matters, not just for us but for everyone in our lives.

Fear makes it difficult to stay grounded in the present, as it continually catapults us into a non-existing future, thus disabling our ability to see and appreciate what is happening in the present.

Many of us face fear; not even the CEO of the biggest company in the world is immune. We all have demons that keep us awake deep in the night and leave us restless long after sleep has fled. Those tiring days filled with wishes, prayers, hopes for things to be different, and anxiety about the future.

Yet, we are here, still grappling with fears, albeit new ones. If only we could look back in gratitude and see how far we’ve come.

‘beloved’ is both verb and noun, both identity and instruction. Fear is an affront to your spirit, so don’t be scared, be loved.

Moyosola Olowokure

The above quote illuminates love as the antidote to fear. When love takes over, everything feels alright — even though everything has always been okay — we just had not realised it.

Suddenly, everything becomes light and free. Freedom comes with love and clarity, bringing a new wave of confidence. We transform, becoming captivating with a new sense of allure, and in the process, we discover a new version of ourselves.

Fear is the greatest deterrent to confidence. Confidence is on the other side of fear; I searched for the synonyms and found the following:

assurance, self-assurance, self-confidence, self-reliance, self-esteem, boldness, certainty, conviction, trust, faith, positivity, poise, assertiveness, sureness, fearlessness, courage, self-trust, belief, security, composure.

The term ‘confidence‘ comes from the Latin word ‘confidentia,’ which means ‘trusting in oneself.’

Many people have reached where we aspire to be primarily because of how confident they are in themselves. They might not be more qualified than us, yet, like a butterfly with its vibrant and bold display, their confidence is immediately captivating.

Charmed by the butterfly’s radiance, it’s easy to overlook the reticent worker bee diligently making honey or the unassuming wallflower producing nectar. Yet, it’s important to remember the butterfly itself isn’t the source of the nectar enhancing its allure.

We must remember that hard work, resilience, and talent form the basis for long-lasting confidence.

By recognising our fears and calling them by their name, we bring them into the light and take responsibility for them.

We take responsibility by first slowing down to give gratitude for where we are coming from and the clarity of knowing that something is wrong and then committing towards bringing ourselves to the spotlight through curiosity and an action plan.

In my case, I began to assert myself more within my circles. In my community, I started leading some of the weekly meditation and Sunday gratitude sessions on ClubHouse. I also started participating more in the conversations. I’m not there yet, but I’m using my voice more.

Growth is uncomfortable; it’s like working a tight muscle until it stretches. I remember feeling uncomfortable the first time I turned on my camera during a video call. Now, it feels awkward to have a call with the camera off.

When we can address fear by its name, we’ve taken the first step towards light, and thereon, we can find ways to work out a solution. In time, we realise that it isn’t even all that bad.

In the words of Moyosola Olowokure, ‘Fear is an affront to your spirit. be loved.’

Fear is passive, stagnating our spirit, while love and confidence—emotions synonymous with action—propel us forward. Fear avoids action, whereas our spirit inherently thrives on doing. As we immerse ourselves in action and curiosity, we push back against fear until it becomes a mere shadow and a distant memory.

As Sang Zhi aptly puts it in my recent favourite series, ‘Hidden Love,’ ‘after all the bad things are over, all that is left are the good things. So, from now on, you must be even more certain that you are the best.’

You must be kinder to yourself. Affirm this to yourself that you are the best in the world, and no one can tell you otherwise.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this piece. What fears do you carry with you? More importantly, what strategies have you found effective in combating these fears? Please, share your experiences and insights in the comment section. Your story might be the encouragement someone else needs.

Categories
Reflections Understanding Responsibility and the Impact of Actions

Part 3: Of Intentions and Responsibilities – Unearthing the Invisible Impact

Photo by Ian Schneider on Unsplash

In part 2 of this series, I introduced the concept of responsibility at individual and social levels. In this chapter, we delve into the crucial role of intention in responsibility, underlining the importance of conscientiousness even in the littlest tasks.

The Invisible Impact of Our Actions

People are constantly watching how we act. We may not know it until we reach out to others to recommend us for a role, and we feel dismayed when we catch a hesitation in their demeanour or pleasantly surprised, depending on the situation.

We ponder the reason but cannot ascertain why they passed us for someone else on the job; this is akin to LinkedIn recommendations; there, when we endorse someone’s skills, we affirm our belief in their abilities and capacity to excel.

When someone recommends another for a role, they automatically take responsibility for the person they recommend. If that person falls short of the endorsement, the recipient may hesitate to seek future recommendations.

Hence, we want to give our best when it’s time for us to put someone forward because we are entering into a trust with the recommended and the recipient of the recommendation. But before we get to this stage where people ask for our thoughts in recommending another, we start from within by building ourselves towards being worthy of becoming recommended.

Performing Roles with Good Intentions

If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michaelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, ‘Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well

Martin Luther King Jr.

When I think of ‘responsibility,’ I think of action imbued with ‘good work.‘ An adage in Igbo goes, ‘Ozi adịghị nwata mma, o je ya nje na abụ.’ The literal translation of this proverb is: ‘If an errand is not good for a child, the child goes on the errand twice.

I grew up hearing my grandparents and older aunts and uncles use the above phrase to emphasise the role of intention in responsibility.

This literal translation encapsulates a specific thought process from the Igbo culture: if a child believes an errand or ‘responsibility’ is beneath them and, as a result, does not perform it well initially (perhaps finding various ways to avoid the task), the sender will ensure they repeat the errand until they execute the chore satisfactorily. In this context, whether the errand is deemed suitable for the child is decided by the adult and not the child.

For instance, if an adult sends a child to buy crayfish from the market, and the child throws a tantrum for about 30 minutes, gets distracted playing street football, and comes back 2.5 hours later with Moi Moi instead, the sender would wonder about the relationship between Crayfish and Moi Moi before sending the child back to the task. 

Sending the child a second time to the market might not be all the repercussions the child has to bear from the task assigned to them. The sender may also have to punish this child to instil some sense of value, discipline, and responsibility in them.

Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle.

Steve Jobs’ 2005 Stanford Commencement Address

Performing a role with good intentions means seeing a task as not just an assignment, but an opportunity to take ownership and make an impact. Some people call it ‘the calling.’ The calling is why many influencers advocate for making our passion our job. Steve Jobs called it ‘doing great work’ and endorsed it in his commencement address to the 2005 set of Stanford graduates.

The energy and dedication we bring to this responsibility and how we respond can significantly influence the outcome. Expressions such as ‘you did it with so much love, are not merely feedback; they highlight the tangible impact of our heart-filled efforts.

This connection between intention and output was something I grasped at an early age. I remember an instance from childhood when, after tasting a meal I had prepared, my uncle queried, ‘Ifunanya, were you in a bad mood when you made this?’ I cannot remember my emotional state at the time, but his question underlined a truth that has stuck with me: our attitudes and intentions, even when unseen, leaves an imprint on our actions.

Nigerians use ‘yeye dey smell. When breeze blow, fowl nyash go open‘ to convey that nobody can hide the truth. Just as the wind can blow to expose what the chicken was sitting on, so too can life events reveal the true intent behind an action.

Consider the case of renting apartments in Lagos, Nigeria. Lagosians share an experience of inheriting house issues from a newly rented apartment. Property owners often build their houses with substandard products that break easily and cause a lot of frustration for their occupants. Eventually, when this occurs, the landlord ends up being equally affected, as was my case when one of the toilets in my house broke and had to be knocked down and rebuilt. The previous one kept leaking water into my neighbour’s apartment downstairs, and it became messy. Eventually, my landlord’s attempt to save money by building with less quality materials became futile, as he lost more money due to the repairs. I have lost count of the numerous issues I have faced in my current house: from leaking toilets to leaking walls, to a leaking roof, to faulty electrical appliances, to a shaky floor. At one point, I wondered if my apartment would fall on me. One of my neighbours left before his one-year rent was due, and nobody has called to check on the house since he left.

A recurring question around moral consequences is: if someone will eventually have to fulfil a responsibility or a role, either assigned to them or chosen by them, out of duty or for their profession, should they not approach it with good intentions?

Conclusions in Preparation for the Next Part

In a world where our actions echo louder than our words, our intentions shape the resonance of our responsibilities. As we journey through life, it is crucial to remember that the ‘tasks’ we deem beneath us today could well be the stepping stones for tomorrow’s triumphs. Let us embrace Steve Jobs and Martin Luther King Jr.’s words, striving to approach our role, no matter how routine or small, with love, good intentions, an open heart and a focused mind, recognising that our responsibility speaks to our character.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this section as much as I did writing it. The next part will explore the role of action and reason in responsibility and how we can move together as a community.

Categories
Reflections Understanding Responsibility and the Impact of Actions Work

Part 2: The Interconnectedness of Responsibility and Its Impact on Society

Photo by Varad Sawant on Unsplash

In part 1 of this series, I shared a personal struggle that inspired this reflection on responsibility, intention, and action. Now, let’s delve deeper into this sensitive topic that carries so much weight in our lives, relationships, and societies.

The topic of responsibility and intention holds dear in my heart. I have initiated numerous conversations with those willing to engage, seeking to understand the root of neglecting responsibility, evasion of fault and explain why it matters in every relationship.

From first-hand experience, I understand that when someone avoids taking responsibility, someone else must shoulder the burden of that action, which means bearing responsibility for another’s irresponsibility. Many may resonate with this, as I have often found myself playing the role of the person who has to take responsibility for someone else’s inactions.

We witness a lack of responsibility in different contexts; in the professional setting, when an employee fails to fulfil their task, someone else must step in to complete the work. Outside work, when a child, sibling, spouse, friend, or parent neglects personal responsibility, others around them may feel obligated to step in; this could be a sibling who cleans up after another, a friend who excuses their friend’s behaviour, a spouse or parent who covers their partner’s or child’s mistake, or even a child stepping in for a parent.

These situations depict the ease with which responsibility can transfer from one person to another. This dynamic raises significant questions: to what extent should individuals continue to shoulder additional burdens on behalf of others, and how can we motivate others to assume responsibility for their actions?

What is Responsibility?

Responsibility is a duty associated with our actions. The Cambridge Dictionary defines responsibility as ‘something that it is your job or duty to deal with.‘ This concept refers to an expectation or obligation to act in certain ways to achieve particular outcomes. Responsibility prompts questions such as ‘What do I need to do?’ ‘What is expected of me?’ and ‘What choices must I make in this scenario?’

Responsibility can take many forms, and we can categorise it into direct or indirect. Direct responsibility encompasses duties and obligations we assign ourselves, which stems from past decisions and choices. They are more individualistic, originating from personal decisions made independent of others. These might include personal goals, self-improvement tasks, or commitments we make to ourselves. Direct responsibility could vary from exercising regularly, starting a course to more complex ones like starting a family and raising a child.

In contrast, indirect responsibility involves duties assigned to us by others, typically related to our occupied roles. These responsibilities may result from our social roles, societal norms and expectations, or tasks assigned to us by others. In our professional lives, these might include tasks assigned by a manager or responsibilities that inherently come with our job role. In our personal lives, these could be duties or roles associated with being part of a family or community, like caring for a sick family member. These responsibilities are generally less voluntary and more prescribed by our circumstances or others.

How Does Individual Responsibility Affect The Society Around Us?

Individual responsibility plays a crucial role in every functioning system. From the intricacies of a bustling city to the regimented societies of ants and bees, if a single cog in this machine fails to fulfil its duty, the entire system is at risk. This principle applies to a worker bee gathering nectar as much as it does to a human maintaining essential utilities.

Consider the role of an obstetrician in a local clinic responsible for delivering a baby. A delay or failure in their job can endanger the expecting mother’s life. A visiting surgeon, faced with a coinciding surgical operation, may have to make difficult decisions. If the mother is in distress and the surgeon’s other patient isn’t too critical, the surgeon might extend her schedule to assist with the delivery. The ripple effects of these decisions and outcomes can significantly impact multiple lives.

In the animal kingdom, the roles of workers, soldiers, and breeders in ants, bees, and termites, or hunters, defenders, and babysitters in wolf packs, are all crucial for survival. While it’s often argued that animals lack moral judgment, with actions primarily driven by instinct, nature, and the imperative to survive and reproduce, they still reflect a form of responsibility essential to the survival and reproduction of their species. However, in human societies, the concept of responsibility goes beyond basic survival, involving moral and ethical implications.

As we turn our attention back to human society, we see that acceptance and execution of responsibility are integral to the smooth functioning of our communities. When an individual assumes responsibility, they accept accountability for their actions. This acceptance contributes to trust, fairness, cooperation, and mutual respect for those involved.

Consider two examples of internal dialogue:

  • ‘I need to do my job, so that my customers can trust me.’
  • ‘If I don’t study my lessons, I won’t pass the exams, and I won’t make OAU. How will I help my family? Thus, I need to study my lessons.’

These examples showcase two individuals with different goals and values. The first person sees the need to do their job well to earn customer trust. The second person contemplates the practical implications of not studying, linking it to their broader life goal of helping their family.

Individual responsibility often starts when one can link their choice to their purpose, as illustrated with the two individuals in the dialogue.

In line with the saying, ‘charity begins at home,’ it stands to reason that one cannot assume responsibility for another without first taking responsibility for oneself. Hence, direct responsibility feeds into indirect responsibility, and in this way, we move from the ‘I’ to the ‘altruistic.’ Personal responsibility can evolve into a broader, altruistic responsibility toward others in our community.

Let us also consider different scenarios involving two adults and a child in varying environments.

If two adults mutually decide to start a family, they share the responsibility for nurturing any children that result from this decision.

There will be expectations for the child to perform some familial roles and for the family members to be responsible members of their community. By becoming part of a society, we inherit responsibilities like understanding and adhering to social norms, being considerate and respectful of others, and contributing to the community. Nonetheless, being a responsible member of society is a continual journey of learning and personal growth, necessitating a commitment to the shared principles of justice, fairness, and mutual respect.

Thank you for reading. As we progress in this series, I encourage you to reflect on your understanding of responsibility. How do you view your responsibilities, and how do they influence your societal roles? Share your thoughts in the comments below. In the next part of this series, we will delve deeper into responsibility, exploring the role of intention, action, and reason and discussing how we can move together as a community.

Categories
Reflections Understanding Responsibility and the Impact of Actions

Part 1: The Real-Life Struggles that Spark Reflections on Responsibility

Photo by Jonas Stolle on Unsplash

This story marks the beginning of my reflections on responsibility, intention, and action. Stay tuned for the rest of the series.

The Broken Pump and the Waiting Game

As I write this story, I use all my willpower to stay strong and not succumb to the urge to use the bathroom. I find myself hoping, praying, and willing the plumber to arrive, as I had successfully gotten through to him 22 minutes ago when he called me to ask the estate security to let him in.

I hear the sound of the gate and peep through my window; it is the plumber, who I will refer to as Mayowa for the sake of this story.

Mayowa was not new to our house; we had inherited him from our landlord shortly after renting the apartment. With the numerous issues that came with the house, we always brought them to the landlord’s attention; his immediate response was, ‘Ifunanya, I have called Mayowa. He’s on his way.’ And yes, he would be on his way, but often 9 hours after he had promised to arrive.

I sigh with relief. I might be able to hold on for another 30 minutes. Or perhaps an hour? I attempt a rough calculation of how long it will take to fix the pumping machine – Argh, I am not sure. I can’t make a reliable estimate. But whenever Mayowa and his companion are able to fix it, it should take another hour for them to pump the water up before it reaches our apartment.

Frustration courses through me as I grapple, yet again, with the bitter reality of broken promises.

This experience was not how I envisioned starting my exploration into responsibility. I have numerous tabs open on my browser, filled with materials to guide my understanding of responsibility, motives, and intention – all to support my narrative on the subject: ‘Understanding Responsibility and the Impact of Actions.’

Argh, where was I? 

By 08:00 AM, I had phoned Mayowa to follow up on his plans to install our new pumping machine. The old one had failed yesterday, leaving us without water. Mayowa had come to pick up the broken machine, promising that if he didn’t manage to return with it repaired yesterday, he would undoubtedly be back to install it this morning.

When I called him, I had hoped he would be on his way. Alas, he was not. He had taken the machine to someone else to repair it – I don’t understand this other person’s role here. However, Mayowa was going to retrieve the pumping machine from him by 10:00 AM, as agreed between them.

The Struggles of a Night Without Water

The waterless night was a challenging ordeal. Having gone to bed without bathing and after multiple attempts to use the same unflushed toilet, I finally reached a breaking point and couldn’t bring myself to do it again. So, I peed in the shower each time, using the remaining water in the bucket to rinse it off. The pee smell was beginning to ooze through the closed doors as my bowels rolled uncomfortably, pressing me with the urge to relieve myself.

However, I survived the night, mostly. 

The Broken Promise and Unmet Expectations

At 10:00 AM, I phoned Mayowa to confirm we were on track. He was on his way to meet with the person. I hung up, counting the time he would get there and here. I called at 11 but was disappointed to hear the man hadn’t started whatever he was supposed to do with the machine. His excuse was that there was no electricity. After hanging up, I followed up with Mayowa every half hour, and his excuse was more elaborate than the previous one.

His responses varied from ‘Madam, the man is almost done’ to ‘I’m on my way.’ At 1:00 PM, he was on his way. At 2:00 PM, he claimed to be at my estate entrance, but by 2:30 PM, I couldn’t reach his phone. At a point, I prayed he wasn’t involved in an accident. At 3:00 PM, I slept off with my phone in my hand, praying that I don’t develop a condition for not going to the toilet. When I woke at 4:00 PM, I rushed to my bathroom sink, holding my breath as I turned it on. A sinking feeling came over me as I realised that the water trickling from the tap was just residue from the previous pumping.

Mayowa had not come. I found myself pondering my next move: should I lodge my family in a hotel? But the expense would be astronomical!

At 4:09 PM, Mayowa’s call came in. ‘Ma, please, call your gate for me.’

I hissed.

I let myself write for a while after hearing Mayowa enter our compound to slow down my whirring thoughts. I was determined to confront him about his lack of responsibility, which is starting to seem like my favourite topic. It is okay to be angry, I say to myself, but I was not going to let my anger get the better of me. I will express myself clearly and let him see why I am angry.

Confronting Mayowa and Contemplating Responsibility

Finally, I went downstairs, and as I shut the door, my eyes met with Mayowa’s as he broke into a smile. I didn’t know what to make of the smile, so I asked in a voice that almost gave away my emotions, ‘Mayowa, why are you smiling? I am angry with you.’

He immediately started talking and apologising about how it wasn’t his fault, but I wouldn’t let him.

‘Mayowa, it is your fault. When you left this compound with the pumping machine, you became responsible for it. I trusted you when you said you were coming in the morning. But from 10:00 AM to 4:00 PM? No, this is not how we do things.’

I am waiting upstairs, in my room, as they fix the pumping machine downstairs. I hope and pray with all my might that the Power Holding Company of Nigeria (PHCN) will not suddenly cut off the electricity; it will be heartbreaking if that happens.

And shortly after I wrote the above, the power went out. 

I smile bitterly. It’s 5:05 PM.

I ponder on Mayowa’s defence – ‘It’s not my fault.’ This denial reminds me of the old nursery rhyme – ‘Mr. Nobody.‘ In this rhyme, ‘Mr. Nobody,’ an unseen character, is always responsible for all the mischief in the neighbourhood. Mayowa had become a real-life ‘Mr. Not-My-Fault,’ refusing to acknowledge his role in the situation.

I can’t help but wonder: if it isn’t Mayowa’s fault, then whose is it?

As I sit here waiting, still without water, I realise that understanding responsibility is a lot more complicated than it seems.

Thank you for reading. In the next part of this series, we will explore the concept of responsibility and how it can play out in various scenarios.

Categories
Reflections vulnerability

What pain is teaching me about time

Pain.

I had never really thought about this until I came to from my unconsciousness with blinding pain. ‘Where is my stomach?’, my partner said I’d mumbled to nobody in particular in the mumbo jumbo slurred speech of someone who was still under the influence of anesthesia.

Where was my stomach indeed?

Shalvah had read out every nonsense I’d said in the post-op room to me, and we’d laughed about it, but the more I think about it, the more I realize something new from that experience – my experience. 

I was getting to know more of myself through my wounds, through my scars, through my pain.

Before this operation, right before I had the excruciating pain from my hernia – when my outie was still really big, I think. I’d thought of my belly button as a scar. A scar that I thought came from the carelessness of the nurses who helped deliver me.

My belly button gave me my nickname in secondary school – ‘big dodo’, which translates to ‘big navel.’ I hated that nickname and felt embarrassed that I’d cover it up by wearing oversized T-Shirts, skirts up until my navel, and girdles that held my belly button in place and made it less obvious that I had a ‘scar.’

It wasn’t until late 2019 that I decided not to give a care about people’s thoughts regarding my outie. I was going to embrace my scar and see it as a part of me. I was going to show it off. And yes, I did show it off on my Instagram stories, photos of me in my workout suit, flanking my outie belly button until I felt the worst pain shoot through the insides of my stomach. No, this should be fine, I’d thought. It wasn’t the first time I was having abdominal pain.

But this was a different kind of pain. This pain did not stop. It choked me, and at a point, I thought I could not breathe. Was this an aftermath of covid? I booked a Bolt ride to the hospital, and one look at my belly button, the doctor confirmed my fears. ‘It’s an umbilical hernia. We need to take it out.’

Lying in the hospital bed, I’d wondered about pain, about scars, about time. This year has dealt me some numbers. 

Right from the call I got on January 4th, 2021 that I tested positive to Covid-19, to moving to the isolation ward to spending 14+ days with other covid positive patients, to losing my sense of smell and regaining it shortly after, and coming home to having the worst fever and losing my sense of smell again and wondering if this was it. 

There were a lot of questions. 

Was I ever going to get better? 

Was I ever going to see the outside world again?

Was I going to die? I mean, I’m not different from others who lost their lives to this deadly virus. What was going to happen to me, I thought as I downed the drugs recommended for me. 

When I think about pain, I think about my trips to the toilet at the isolation centre with my perfume, spraying it close to my nostrils, and willing myself to smell again. 

When I think about pain, I think about the pills I took during covid and the side effects I got from taking them. I think about the muscle aches I endured and the numbness that took hold of the left part of my body for over a week.

I think about the constant pressure on my left chest and the nights that I stayed awake wondering if I was about to have a stroke or a heart attack or if I was having a pulmonary embolism. Yes, I Googled my symptoms. 

I think about my early morning trips to UCH Ibadan, scared about the long queue and screaming at a doctor that I found strolling that I had an emergency and needed medical attention fast! I was having a heart attack, I said to him. I walked into the emergency quarters and had a chest x-ray and an ECG. Everything looked normal on paper, but what was this pain? What was wrong with me? 

I think about how shortly after I’d tested negative to Covid-19, I’d developed another cough, the worst, and wondered if this was it again. I think about the number of antibiotics I had taken before the sputum test results that showed I had streptococcus pyogenes and, I wonder if I’d somehow cursed this year and brought this entire ordeal upon myself.

I had thought so much about time and death. I used to be a part of a group that comes together every last Sunday of the month to discuss death, and you would think that this would have made me ready to be unafraid of death.

But, I have anxiety just by thinking about the thought of dying. I lost my mum when I was fifteen, and I am not entirely sure if I’d completely gotten over her death. My grandmother and great grandmother died around the same time last year, and my dad’s elder brother died last December.

I am not unafraid of death. I fear pain the same way that I fear the thought of getting sick.

I am scared. 

My stomach hurts so bad I think it’s about to split into two, and my right arm is swollen and painful that I wonder if I’m having a DVT. 

My thoughts about time have shifted a bit from ‘with all the time we have,’ to never existent. Please, hear me out. I spent almost 18 days at the isolation centre, and those days didn’t feel any different to me. It felt like I was living the same day over and over again. 

Mike Quigley wrote, ‘Once you’ve stared death in the face, every day is a good day.’ These days, I am intrigued by time, and I think a lot about the question, ‘What is the time?’

Does time matter when we can’t do those things we used to do because of ill health, or God forbid when we are staring death right in the face? 

Then, the question, ‘What time is it?’ wouldn’t matter again, because, then, time becomes one long string of never-ending nows. 

I’m still trying to figure out time and why we say we don’t have enough of it. In my theory, time doesn’t exist, and yesterday is the mind as it remembers, and tomorrow is the mind as it anticipates – I’m not sure whose philosophy this is again. 

If this is true, I wonder if the mind ever survives time.

Categories
Mindfulness Reflections Work

When do we make out time to pause?

Photo by Lukasz Saczek on Unsplash

There are some posts you read on the internet that make you pause. One of them is from 8fit’s Coach Emily McLaughlin. Emily shared this on her Instagram page, and I have been thinking a lot about it.

“We aren’t here just to go through the motions or simply get physical. We are here to feel.”

Emily, Head Coach at 8fit

It made me wonder what the next step would be when we finally get what we want. What follows then? Do we stop chasing after sunsets or money or love or whatever it is that we have built our purpose around? Or do we find something else to chase then? 

T. S Elliot once said, “We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time.”

In this same regard, Lee Ann wrote: “We will never reach a point in life where we will have everything we have ever desired. The whole point of life is the launching of new desires and then aligning with those desires.”

Following from the two thinkers I quoted, If we do not get to a time when we would have it all, then, I hope we remember to make time to pause?

Pause –  the act of suspending activity temporarily.

thefreedictionary.com

Emily’s post made me reflect on the act of pausing. We do too much in the pursuit of our purpose. To make sense of this world, we are nurses, teachers, project managers, digital marketers, CEOs, venture capitalists, engineers, writers, etc. We have many interests, but sometimes our passions might not be our job, yet we need money, and in search of how to make ends meet, we dabble in many things and forget to make out time to stop momentarily.

Do you ever feel like you are living a monotonous life? You wake up with your alarm, rush to the bath, eat breakfast, go to work, get stuck in traffic, eat dinner, open social media, go to bed, repeat.

If you are anything like me, you do.

I will rephrase for those who work from home. Your alarm startles you, and you remember you have a meeting for 9:10 am. You rush to the bath, brush your teeth, run to the kitchen to fix coffee, open your laptop and join your call. You might not get to leave your house for the whole day, so you order in lunch and eat it at your desk. Work is over, you close your laptop, check-in on social media, watch Netflix, go to bed, and repeat.

When do we make time to pause?

Are we going through the motions, simply because? Do we go on and on even when getting on might not make much sense?

Life is difficult. We want what we do not have, and we go to work for it. Then, we have what we had been searching for, and we still keep the chase. It can be hectic to just get by the day, so when it gets to moments like this, remember to pause. 

When you are feeling very overwhelmed, and you feel the need to drag through to complete your day, stop everything you are doing and do something different.

This week, I woke up twice in a row without feeling like doing my morning exercises.

Monday passed by, and I tried to work out, but I could not bring myself to. 

Tuesday came, yet I was still too weak to do anything. Going to work in such state would have sucked, so I left everything I was doing and pulled my body outside, with my headphones, I went for a ride on my bicycle, and I rode the most challenging ride ever on a path I had never ridden before. It was tiring, but I felt sore and better after cycling. I was ready to work when I came back.

Sometimes, all we need to break the monotony is a change of events. If you feel like you are doing the same thing over again, try to do something different. If you are used to sitting in a particular place at a restaurant, sit somewhere else. Go on a different pathway if you have a specific path you love to take. Modify your routine, take a break, and most importantly, do not forget to breathe.

Categories
Failing well Reflections

Oh, but if you never try, you’ll never know

Cross over to the other side of fear. Do it afraid
Photo by Sammie Vasquez on Unsplash

I moved into my new house at the beginning of July, and I’m still settling in. It’s a new city, a beautiful space with new challenges that I didn’t think to expect. I had been planning this move since December 2019, but it had not been successful – what, with the enormous demands from property owners in Lagos who prefer to have an empty space over letting their property to a single career woman? But this is a story for another day.

I’m not sure what mental space I was in when I shared that tweet, but I could make guesses. The items on my todo list? – Projects that leave me sleepless on many occasions at night, or the thought of having to start writing all over again? I let these thoughts consume me, not because I felt I couldn’t take them on, but because sometimes, I felt the weight too big to manage. Where could I possibly start?

1. Don’t let your fear drive you to the point of exhaustion.

If there’s one thing I’ve learnt about fear, it is that fear should be the fuel that drives us to do the things that we’ve always wanted to do. I think it is okay to be afraid. Our dreams can get too big that they frighten us, and yes, they should scare us – They should scare us into doing. I remember Shalv’s words to me on one of those days when we’d talk about fears. He said, ‘be careful not to let your fear drive you to the point of exhaustion, babe.’

Sometimes, we get too afraid that we end up not doing anything. I know this because I’ve been there. Thanks, Youper!

Since fear is not something we can control, we can decide how we want to use our fears to define our next course of action.

2. Vision boards are really helpful!

When I have an idea, I get so excited about it that I start talking all about it at once to my friends, and then the thought of how to execute it finally dawns on me, and that’s when it becomes frightening. Will this end up like other half-woven ideas?

One of the perks of working with creatives is you get to explore different ways of putting together your scattered thoughts. I learnt about using vision boards from working with Jana and Sarah.

Vision boards help you put together your thoughts using pictures and words. They really do work! First, you think about what you want – Your goals about the project, and you put them down. However it is, just put them down. I can hear Jana’s voice in my head – ‘Nanya, you don’t have to make it pretty. It doesn’t have to make sense right now. We’ll just go ahead to put them all down.’ And yes we did.

Visualisation is essential, and it helps you reduce all the fears and anxiety you had built up while your thoughts were still forming. Once you can visualise it, you can bring your dream to life. In this regards, I use Miro for brainstorming. 

3. Check if it’s on the list ☑️

Jana, my colleague, said during our hangout one morning, ‘checklists save lives,’ and I couldn’t have said it better.

I started writing again. First, I registered a domain name, then I created an account on WordPress, and wrote everything I wanted to write about in a checklist. All of these didn’t happen in a day.

If your dream frightens you, put them in a checklist and try to focus so hard on working on one item that you eventually get to check it off your list.

4. Do it.

Yagazie Emezi said ’The only way you can do it on your own is to do it on your own.’ I will borrow from her words to say, the only way you can do it is to do it.

I know many dream weavers. One of them is Shalv, who is the most consistent person that I know. I’ll tell you one. This amazing person sent me songs of the day, every day, for ten straight months without flinching. Or maybe he did, but the songs didn’t ‘flinch.’ He’s also the person whom I share my many ideas with, and he’d ask if I’d noted them down. With many projects of his own, which he’s done a great deal of work on, I can’t say that I’m not inspired.

Another dream weaver that I know is my colleague, Biodun. He wanted a unique couch and a bed he saw on Pinterest. He would make a bed for himself and one for Alexa, his dog. And off he went to the market, scared of the uncertainty of how the finished work would be, but with heart thumping with excitement, he made a bed all by himself, for himself, and Alexa. I must admit that I’d doubted that it would come out okay, but the intensity with which he made these pieces of furniture inspired me. Alexa must have been proud when she saw her beautifully designed bed with bright led lights underneath and the inscribed letters of her name boldly written at the top of her bed.

To doing things afraid

Joyce Meyer said to do it afraid.

Fear! Has it ever been a problem for you, holding you back from moving into areas that could enrich your own life and the lives of others? 

Joyce Meyer, Do It Afraid.

Oh, but if you never try, you will never know. You will never know if you’ll do better as a writer if you never give writing a try. You will never know if you’ll make it to the interview stage if you do not submit your resume. If you don’t ask for that raise, how would you ever know that you won’t get it?

Because “everything we’ve always wanted is on the other side of fear”. We have to cross over, utilize it, channel it towards our passion, and then, we can have a great story to tell.