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  • What She Said: I’m the Firstborn, Not a Backup Plan

    What She Said: I’m the Firstborn, Not a Backup Plan

    Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here. This is Zikoko’s What She Said.

    Today’s #ZikokoWhatSheSaid subject is Faith, a 19-year-old Nigerian woman. She talks about the medical error that motivated her to study medicine in Ukraine, being tired of the constant reminder to be grateful to her parents, and life since she moved back home because of the Russia-Ukraine war.

    Are you one of those Nigerian firstborns who were forced to study medicine?

    LOL. Not at all. My dad wanted me to be a civil engineer, and my mum, an accountant, but I always wanted to work in natural science. I knew I wanted to be a doctor when my sister ended up paralysed after a doctor overdosed on the prescription she needed. They also blamed it on the haemorrhage that happened in her coma, but it was their fault for not running an MRI after she came in for a bad fall. 

    My sister was a sickle cell patient that needed a lot more care than she got.

    She wasn’t the first family member I’d seen affected by some form of medical negligence. It happened to an aunt, uncle and cousin. But when it happened to my sister, I wanted to fix it. Medicine has been my dream since I was 13.

    Hence Ukraine, the motherland for Nigerian doctors?

    That happened by chance. Initially, I wanted to study in the US, but I knew my parents couldn’t afford the fees. After my sister’s accident, they were spending a lot of money on her drugs. I didn’t want to add to the burden, and my parents kind of made me feel that way with their constant need to make me feel grateful.

    You must wonder why I didn’t just attend a Nigerian school since my parents clearly didn’t have the money. But the Ukrainian university tuition was about the same as what I would’ve paid at Afe Babalola University, so why not take the chance to leave Nigeria? Studying at a public university didn’t make sense either because I’d probably spend ten years doing a six years course. I wasn’t up for that.

    Fair assessment. But how did your parents make you feel the need to always be “grateful”?

    That’s my firstborn origin story. They expected me to take up responsibilities I wasn’t ready to show gratitude for all the money they spent on me. When my sister got sick, it seemed like I became the backup plan for her and my brother’s welfare. I didn’t mind, but my parents wouldn’t let me hear the end of “my siblings were my responsibility”. They talked about how I’d sort my brother’s school fees when he was ready to join me in Europe. 

    It’s not like I didn’t want to take care of him. I just expected more time. 

    I’d been in Ukraine for three years when they were really pushing the conversation. I’d just started getting a hang of their system and barely understood the language. How was I supposed to earn enough money to support him? I don’t think they understood that I was in another man’s land, and it takes time to earn real money as a student. 

    Did you ever complain to anyone?

    Yeah, my mum. But to her, I was just going through puberty and acting up. Because my parents were focused on earning more money, I was saddled with the responsibility of managing my mum’s store at 14. I’d close from school and spend the rest of the day there. They would always tell me how I’d have to think of how to expand the store. I’d also have to help when my sister needed anything. It was a lot.  

    One day, I lost it. I shouted at my mum about treating me like a backup plan. It felt like I was just being groomed to take care of the family when my parents died. No one ever asked what I wanted. My mum always says, “Make sure you marry a rich man who’ll be able to take care of your sister.” She doesn’t even know I never want to get married.

    When I explained how I felt, her rebuttal was about how ungrateful I was. She listed everything they’d ever done for me. From being sent to a private school to having a roof over my head, I heard it all. That was the last time I talked about any of it. I just went along with their plans.

    I’m really sorry. Did relocating help in any way?

    Thanks. The only difference was choosing how much of what they said I wanted to listen to. The heart grows fonder when it’s far away. So yeah, we got along much better. Plus, I was 16 when I travelled. I still needed them financially even when we had arguments. At that point, I was to blame for allowing the firstborn title to haunt me, not them.

    How?

    I knew I’d have to pay my parents back someday. Nobody had sent my parents abroad, but they did that for me. As a first-generation migrant, you’re indebted for that for life. People expect you to graduate and carry the other generations on your shoulder. That thought made it hard to enjoy life in Ukraine. 

    Do you think being the firstborn took away your freedom to flex?

    I’ve never had a chance to explore my social side, but I don’t think I can blame my parents for not consciously enjoying myself. My mates in medical school went out for parties; I’d choose to stay home. I didn’t think I was missing out though. I’ve always been introverted, spending more time indoors. Being far away from my family wasn’t going to shock me into becoming an outgoing person. 

    Since I moved back to Nigeria in March, I’ve only missed out on my peace of mind. I’ve never felt more overwhelmed than now.

    Why?

    I’m thankful I made it out, but I have no clue what I’m doing with my life right now. I was already in my fourth year of uni, and now, I’m not sure when I’ll actually graduate. It feels like when I was walking to the Polish borders when we were trying to get back to Nigeria from Ukraine. There was no certainty that I’d make it all the way, but I kept moving. Only with this phase back home, I’m not sure it’ll end soon.

    I’m sorry. 

    Thank you. Beyond the uncertainty of school, I’m back to being hounded about creating generational wealth for my family. No one gave me room to relax and be taken care of. They’d typically say, “We need to start a new business for the family,” but I know they mean “I need to.” 

    We aren’t even making money from my mother’s store anymore. On top of that, my dad is angry with the way I silently carry myself around the house. These are people who experienced the brunt of military rule. I expected them to understand that I need time to process the possibility that my school may not resume anytime soon because of the Russian-Ukrainian, but of course, I only got the “You’re never grateful for anything we do” response. I still don’t understand why they felt so attacked by my sadness.

    I’m guessing you’ve not spoken to them about this…

    There’s no need. Paying back is the only way I know how to show gratitude as a firstborn. They always talk about everything they’ve ever done for me, so why not return the favour? But they want continuous thank yous, which gets tiring at some point. 

    Right now, I’m focused on setting up a business. Since we’ve always talked about some kind of generational wealth, I’ve decided to take my return to Nigeria as an opportunity to get started on that. First, I’m setting up a t-shirt business, and maybe, I’ll expand into affiliate marketing or tech.

    What about medicine?

    It’s my passion, but I have to make money first. I want to be less dependent on my parents. I turn 20 this year (2022), and I can’t keep complaining about feeling like I owe them and still ask them for everything.

    Whenever I go back for my degree, I want to live a different life. Not one constantly plagued by being the firstborn.

    If your sister’s accident didn’t happen, what would be different right now?

    I think my family would be different. My parents were civil servants, and that one mistake continues to affect them financially. The pressure would take a mental toll on anyone, so I can’t blame them for the expectations. Some days, I just wish I wasn’t on the receiving end of their frustrations since that one mistake.

    If you’d like to be our next subject on #WhatSheSaid , click here to tell us why

    Ortega

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  • What She Said: I Think Of My Body As A Clunky Old Car

    What She Said: I Think Of My Body As A Clunky Old Car

    Navigating life as a woman in the world today is interesting. From Nigeria to Timbuktu, it’ll amaze you how similar all our experiences are. Every Wednesday, women the world over will share their experiences on everything from sex to politics right here. This is Zikoko’s What She Said.

    The subject of this week’s What She Said is a woman who was born with Sickle Cell Disease (SCD). She talks about the first time she had a crisis, losing her sister to the disease, not allowing it stop her from enjoying her life, and how breakdowns are a regular part of her life. 

    What’s your earliest memory of your childhood?

    I was a talkative kid and quite troublesome. My earliest memory is hiding behind a sofa one evening to avoid my mum, who was trying to convince me to go to bed.

    Another memory is of a crisis I had.

    Crisis? 

    It was a cool night, around 1 a.m., and I woke up with a sharp pain in both my knees. 

    Often, my crises start around joints, but the pain was unexpected and excruciating. It was so excruciating that I was rushed to a hospital emergency unit. I was bedridden for about six days and heavily medicated. I’ve never had a crisis as bad as that one since.

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    But you’ve had others?

    Yes. I’ve had regular crises for as long as I can remember.

    As I’ve grown, it’s become easier to manage and avoid crises, but I used to have one a day or four a week consistently for the majority of my earlier years.

    How did your parents take it?

    My family learnt about SCD the hard way and went through various hospital visits with my sister. So when I was born and later diagnosed, they were more prepared.

    I grew up taking daily prescription medication, avoiding excessive sports and drinking a minimum of two litres of water a day.

    Unfortunately, my sister died in 2013. 

    I’m so sorry.  

    It’s okay. My family understands only the basics. This made it hard for my siblings to understand crises earlier in life, but thankfully,  my stepmother and legal guardian was a nurse; and she was always available during a crisis.

    The first time I learnt about SCD in school, the biology teacher taught us that people with SCD can’t live past 20. It’s bullshit. I did the majority of my education on SCD by myself, with no help from my doctor or family members.

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    What about outside school? Where was the first place you heard about it?

    I was young, maybe 7 or 8. I found out I had SCD by overhearing an early morning conversation between my stepmother and brother outside my room, the morning after I had had a crisis in the night.

    They didn’t tell you before? 

    No. 

    Why?

    I don’t know. I doubt I would have had any use for the information. I’m glad I didn’t find out any later than I did, but I don’t wish I knew earlier.

    So, what’s life like for you with SCD? 

    I think of my body like a clunky old car. Since almost anything can trigger a crisis, I try my best to drink more than enough water, maintain a medium body temperature and avoid extreme stress.

    It’s very touch and go, hence the comparison with an old car. I’m managing my body and despite how much I try, it breaks down often and I end up in the workshop.

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    What about the future? What does a future with SDC look like for you? 

    I used to despise thinking about this. I’ve been suicidal after crises, but this life na one.

    I plan to travel, explore my many talents, taste many foods and work on my career goals. 

    In the short term, I intend to purchase equipment for a personal gym soon. I’m working towards a toned body ideal that I once believed was unattainable for me because I believed I couldn’t exercise.

    I intend to live to the fullest, and see where that takes me.

    What about a family. Any plans for that? 

    Maybe. If I choose not to marry and/or have kids, it will be for reasons outside SCD.

    If I ever marry, I will not have biological children unless I do so in a country where medicine is advanced enough to avoid passing the sickle cell trait.

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    Do you think having SDC changed you in any way? 

    Yes, actually. It’s helped me be more empathetic towards people with chronic illnesses.

    Alongside other things, having SCD has helped shape the way I live. I’m here for all the goodness, all the enjoyment.

    I did not choose SCD, so why should I let it stop me from enjoying my life?

    For more stories like this, check out our #WhatSheSaid and for more women like content, click here

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    Itohan Esekheigbe

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  • Travelling Abroad Made Me Realise Sickle Cell Wasn’t My Fault

    Travelling Abroad Made Me Realise Sickle Cell Wasn’t My Fault

    As told to Hassan

    Let me tell you how it started. I woke up one morning in 1999 and my eyes were itchy. The more I rubbed, the more painful they got. When I eventually stopped rubbing, whitish-yellow fluid stuck to my fingers. Pus. It was supposed to be one of those mornings I ate cornflakes and watched cartoons; instead, I was wide awake, running to my parent’s room. 

    My parents panicked. One minute, I was showing them my eyes, the next, we were at the hospital. I don’t remember the drive. After some eye tests, we were told my eyes were jaundiced, and I needed to do more tests. One blood test later, I was given a sickle cell diagnosis. I was four. 

    My first thought was “what’s that?” I turned to my dad to ask, but his pupils were distant, lost in thought. And while I don’t recall what my mum was doing, I’m sure she must have been praying, hands clasped, eyes closed. 

    My story had started without me realising it. I would slowly come to understand that my life had changed. At first, all I had to do was be careful. But then I attended a birthday party, and because I wanted to feel “normal,” I ended up dancing until I landed in the hospital. 

    That birthday incident changed everything. 

    The first thing to go was my freedom. I now had rules: no playing in the rain, check. No swimming, check. No birthday parties, double-check. My childhood became a recurring theme of sitting out activities. 

    In the rare event that I was invited out, my friends would spend the entire day worrying about me. I was never able to enjoy those outings. 

    This continued until I got into university. As a child, my family took turns taking care of me. But in school, there was nobody to do that for me. I had to look out for myself, in addition to the tedious school work. 

    There is nothing more stressful than living with sickle cell as a Nigerian student. For non-sickle cell people, uni stress was just uni stress. For me, uni stress meant hospital visits, missed tests and exams. In some cases, I had to write exams from the hospital bed.

    Keeping friends was also a private hell. My friends would say, “Precious, do you think you should come out with us tonight, because of your health?” All I heard was “You’re going to slow us down”, “We’re not going to have fun because of you”, “You’ll land in the hospital.”

    Dating was another thing entirely. I’d meet the most interesting people, and the moment I disclosed my condition, I’d get long messages saying: “I think you’re amazing, but I don’t think I can handle this.” 

    The messages broke me and made me blame myself. Then I travelled to the UK for my masters in 2018. 

    The care I received changed my perspective. During hospital visits in Nigeria, health professionals would say, “Weren’t you here last month?” or “See you soon.” I would feel guilty and apologise every time I fell sick. In the UK, health professionals would remind me that I had no control over my health. At some point, they asked if I fully understood my diagnosis. They “educated” me about sickle cell, but more importantly, they made me feel seen by really listening to me. 

    I started to live more freely. I went out if I wanted to. My motto changed from “if I fall sick, I’ll ruin people’s plans” to “if I fall sick, I’ll go to the hospital.” 

    I enjoyed this freedom until I returned to Nigeria. There was a clash between my old identity and my newly-won identity. I had gone from the shielded child to someone comfortable expressing herself. I no longer saw myself as a sick person who couldn’t have fun. This led to friction between me and family members unwilling to understand and respect the new me.

    At this point, it had been more than 15 years since my first sickle cell diagnosis. There was a new Precious. Someone who spoke out against insensitive religious people, people who told me to pray away my sickness or that children of God didn’t fall ill. Or the ones who told me to just declare the word of God: as if it were that easy. 

    For a while, these comments almost made me feel less of a Christian, like my faith was not strong enough. I went from being a religious person to resenting the church. I started to despise the so-called religious Christians. 

    Another set of people believed I was exaggerating the pain. They expected me to be used to it by now. Their insensitivity annoys me, but that’s a story for another day. 

    https://twitter.com/bmtforpreshgaza/status/1403037416571772932?s=19

    I’m choosing to focus on the positives, like making quality friends. Friends who have an unspoken rule: “When Precious is in the hospital, we’ll take turns looking after her. No questions asked.” Friends like Salem King, aka chief caretaker, who says, “Precious, you’re not a burden.” Friends who make my journey feel less lonely by showing up for me. 

    My journey has been bittersweet. Living with sickle cell has given and taken from me. For someone who didn’t start making friends early, I now have the most amazing friends in the world. 

    When you come from a large family [six siblings] like mine, you crave independence quickly. This need is heightened if you’re the only one living with a long term condition. You grow up angry. Angry that your family members don’t understand you. Angry that no one stands up for you. Angry about your search for miracles from one church to the other. Angry that despite everything, you still need your family’s help. 

    Living with a chronic illness means I can’t refuse help from people no matter how independent I get. I teach emotional intelligence for a fee, and the fee pays for my drugs and a few hospital bills. Still, there are things I can’t do on my own. I can’t drive myself to the hospital when I’m having a crisis. I can’t look after myself when I’m on admission. 

    I’m tired of depending on people, but there’s nothing I can do. In the first quarter of 2021, my friends started a GoFundMe. It’s for a bone marrow transplant to give me a new genotype, curing me of sickle cell. 

    Immediately I announced this development, I got heat from two sides. Firstly, from my conservative northern family. They were furious that I embarrassed them by “announcing” my illness to everyone. The Christians were also enraged because they felt I betrayed God by choosing to follow science. 

    They’ll all be fine. 

    I’m doing this for me. I’m also doing this based on my newfound knowledge of God. He’s understanding, kind and he loves me.

    I’m not naive to think that it’ll be smooth sailing. But I’ll pick the pain of surgery and raising money over the pain of surviving sickle cell for 25 years.

    I’m going to fight with all I’ve got — till the end. For myself and my friends who’ve been through everything. For everyone who has suffered with me, held my hands and cried with me. 

    I’m doing this for us. 

    And when I finally get my surgery done, I’ll throw a Precious 2.0 party. I can’t wait to finally start living without thinking I’m a burden to people. 

    I’m going to learn how to swim, how to ride a bike. I look forward to dancing in the rain without fear. Most importantly, I’m going to reclaim my childhood.

    Click here to donate to Precious:


    GoFundMe: https://gofund.me/77dde500

    Flutterwave : https://flutterwave.com/pay/crg78jsohnxo

    Hassan Yahaya

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