What Actually Makes You Happy?

I was more afraid of getting pregnant than I was of HIV because at least, I could hide HIV.

It’s Tuesday, 17th September, 2024. It’s 22 minutes past 8. Darkness has covered the city I live in. There is a consistent rhythm of a single drop of water that drops from the tank onto my landlord’s car roof cover. I know that sound is going to persist because nobody usually remembers to switch off the pumping machine until it starts spilling.

I am sitting on my bed, clacking away at my laptop, two candles are flickering on my table. My speaker is somewhere in the middle of my sheets and Jacob Bank’s voice floats out of it. 

It reminds me of love.

But I banish the thought from my head and focus on my laptop.

It’s 27 minutes past 8pm. I am owing my mum 50k. She will probably call me to feign anger as my dad laughs in the background. I just got back from Mo’s house where we talked about our version of happiness as we watched a live musical performance on his TV.

Ding.

It’s my phone. An email just came in. It’s from Mo’. He wrote that email exactly a year ago and scheduled it to be delivered today. It was to remind me of where I was a year ago and where I am today. Not a lot can change in one year.

I scanned the contents of the email and it took me back to the conversation we had earlier today about happiness. I realised that happiness was always defined for me.

For the longest time, I didn’t make decisions on my own. I just followed the choices I had been raised with. Go to school, graduate, get a job, don’t have sex before marriage, don’t drink, don’t smoke, get married to a muslim man, cook for him, have kids, raise them muslim, die.

I never questioned them. It’s like the choice had been made for me and all I had to do was tow the line.

Like a robot.

I didn’t as much as wear ripped jeans in front of my father because rebelling was never an option. I am not sure if that was because I grew up in a strict household or because I was the first child but all my parents had to do was tell me something was bad and I never questioned it.

My father was a pretty chill man who didn’t raise his voice too often but virginity before marriage was a super big deal to him when I was growing up. He did not want to hear anything about sex and the only time we spoke about it was when he made sure I was clear on the NO SEX BEFORE MARRIAGE OR SOMETHING BAD WILL HAPPEN.

I was more afraid of getting pregnant than I was of HIV because at least, I could hide HIV before it ultimately took my life but pregnancy? How would I cope with a child?

So I ran away from men who even as much as breathed the word ‘sex’.

One would imagine I’d rebel since I studied oceans away from home and was no longer under my parents’ watchful eyes but the fear of disappointing them only got worse. I knew there were a lot of people that questioned my father’s decision to send a girl child so far away. They said I could come back pregnant or addicted to some sort of substance so I was very careful to make sure that was not the case.

I was a straight A student, quiet in class, always studied after, and though occasionally late (I’d blame that on my Nigerian blood). The one time I defaulted on the rules of my university, a letter was faxed to my parents and after a very serious call with my father, I was back to towing the line.

The only time I deviated from that line was when I quit my job in 2022. It was then that I realised, I could do certain things and I won’t explode into flames.

So I started flirting with the idea of living my life without the fear of ‘disappointing my parents’.

I moved out. I told my mother I hated cooking and when she showed concern about what my future husband would eat, I told her we’d figure it out when the time came.

Before a washing machine, I hired someone to wash my clothes and when my father complained about it saying I was getting too lazy, I told him it was fine.

The last time someone told me I was not serious about marriage, I thought about it.

I love companionship and I love falling in love but if I never married, would I die a sad woman? I didn’t think so. I’d simply die a woman who never got married and that would be that.

In 2019, I was in a ‘talking stage’ with a man who smoked and although, I detest the smell of nicotine, all I could think of was, “my parents would never be accepting of a man that smokes” and I ended the talking stage. Looking back, I’d have done the same thing but the reason would have been because I don’t like the smell of nicotine.

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My friend and I were having a conversation about having kids. She expressed her fear of having kids because she couldn’t imagine what she’d do if they went through the kind of pain she was subject to as a child and I realised that I never thought about it that way. 

I remember my brother telling me about his heartbreak and how he couldn’t leave the house or his bed and I wanted to vacuum all that pain out of his heart so I couldn’t imagine that being my kid. 

She then asked if I wanted kids. I said yes but if I never had kids I would not be distraught. I would not be going from pastor to imam or drinking strange concoctions.

If I got married and we found out we couldn’t have kids (regardless of who the problem stemmed from), I wouldn’t leave. We could either adopt or just have children of my friends over at my house a lot.

I truly love children but would my life be a disaster if I never had them? No.

As I sit on my bed on this Tuesday night, it occurs to me that I’d have never imagined this life for myself in 2021.

I think we have been taught the ‘idea’ of what is supposed to make us happy that we forget to ask ourselves what actually makes us happy.

I’ve dreamed of jobs I thought would complete me only to quit them months later.

Please choose your life.

Your life is yours to design as you see fit and your happiness is completely dependent on you.

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Today’s song is Too Much by Jacob Banks.

(I apologise for taking a break from this newsletter. Too many things were going on behind the scenes but I am back now. Hopefully. 🙈)