Soaking Garri

and other predicaments.

Thursday, 3:20 am.

I’m standing in the middle of the kitchen, waiting for my garri and cold water to swell so I can start on the path of healing.

Image credit: Resipiz

My brain is slowly booting and I numbly recall the conversation I had with my supervisor in the office kitchen the previous day after downing a plate of garri and egusi mixed with vegetable soup, and goat meat, courtesy of her birthday celebration. My office does this thing where we all get a meal and a cake to celebrate a staff member's birthday.

Cool stuff.

Me: You didn’t get Egusi?

Supe: I don’t eat her Egusi. The last time I did it made me purge.

Me: Ehn?

Supe: But that’s just me, sha.

Me: I don’t understand. Panic panic panic.

Supe: I’m saying that’s me, the rest have eaten her egusi and they were fine. You could be fine too.

It was at that moment I realized that I was going to have a rough couple of days.

Of course, I’m not different. I already have a complicated relationship with the shits in my life. If it’s not hiding and causing me health anxieties, it’s a dramatic mess.

So, no. I was not optimistic.

Look at me now, soaking garri at midnight after a round. Well, at least I have you here with me.

Did I not tell you we would talk about this one day?

See, I feel so much closer to you. Don’t you feel the same way about me?

No?

Speaking about soaking garri, It occurred to me that there are not a lot of things you can do with garri. It’s just Eba, and if you went to a boarding school like I did, you’d have had your fair share of garri cake.

About boarding school, I was scrolling through Twitter when I saw my friend’s tweet about our days in boarding school.

She wasn’t lying, by the way, it was worse than she painted it. We all woke up the night (Senior) Aisha told her to do Conductor- the one where you’re suspended mid-air holding the bunk for support.

Aisha was horrible.

The post triggered me and brought to mind a certain human who claimed the position of my school mother at the time. All this human did was eat my provisions, send me on errands and physically abuse me. I became numb to pain. I’m not kidding. There was a period, I’d be collecting lashes and not feel anything.

An image of my suffering that comes to mind is when a keg I fetched water in, ending up leaking and spilling water in the room and her praying mat and Quran were soaked (she was my bunk mate at the time.)

As you would expect, she beat me so bad, there were visible marks on my body (even Ire pitied me. Lol) and then paraded me around the eight rooms that made up our junior school building, asking any of the seniors there if they needed anything, I would stand in the middle of the room, my heart racing, my body battered, praying that someone would send me on an errand if it meant I wouldn’t be with this wicked human.

Even as I write this, my eyes are teary. Lol.

People are wicked oh!

Or when she slapped me in front of the dining hall- that was the first time I realized that it was actually possible to see stars- I’m not kidding, I saw the entire constellation.

I resolved there and then to report her to my guardian, Mr. Nwachukwu. I didn’t care that I was going to be blacklisted. Everyone could see I was suffering. Everyone pitied that Head Girl’s school daughter.

A brief rant: The idea of being blacklisted for speaking out against wrong will always be dumb in my books. I understand the cooperation, don’t be a snitch thing, don’t ruin this horrible thing we have going because we don’t want to bring attention to ourselves but it’s wrong. It’s why when people who have been given positions of authority abuse it irritates me because there will always be people who make excuses for them.

She pretended to be ill and told a senior who has always been nice to me to let me know she was ill because of me. I was so naive, I apologized to her and accepted it was my fault I got slapped and promised not to report her.

When she graduated and didn’t return for senior secondary school, I felt like I could finally breathe.

I believe that there are things I saw in school that I need therapy for which has shaped the way I now move in the world whether I know it or not.

At Orientation Camp, a friend of mine asked me randomly if I ever went to a boarding school. I affirmed that I infact did. At that time, we were just making each other’s acquaintances and he was doing this thing where he would psychoanalyse me to know what sort of person I was.

I asked him why he would ask that. He said because I moved like someone carrying a lot of fear. l won’t lie, I was shook.

Someone call me a therapist!

I did understand that he meant fear of authority of any kind, and that is very true and it’s why one of the things I’ve been learning as a fresh adult is demystifying that fear. That need to hide, to be subservient, to shrink, to not ruffle any feathers.

Sometimes, I think about my future children and I smile.

They are going to walk into rooms like they own it.

They will not carry my fears, my shame, my anger, my loneliness.

But before that happens, let me check on my garri again.

Ah, it is swollen now. I carry it gently into the room, where I sit on the bed, take out my phone and write these things to you as I scope one large spoon after another.

My stomach rumbles in protest.

There will be no healing today.

---

Thursday. 04:32am.

Open the floodgates. In abundance. And cause your raiinnnnnn to fall on meeeeee!

Recommendation:

I love spoken word as you well know. I recently discovered someone, You’re probably familiar but I want to take the time to enjoy her before I share. In the meantime, here’s a spoken word from IbQuake, who I love.

I was listening to Fela in a bus on my way to work one morning when the idea of a love story came to me. I wrote it here. I don’t want to give any spoilers but there will be a part 2. They are too happy for my literary comfort.

Have a great weekend!