The more I reflect on the lessons my parents taught me, the more stories I remember. The more stories I remember, the clearer their actions become. The clearer their actions become, the more aware I become of my indebtedness to the people I have fought my whole life.
When I was sixteen, my mum decided it was wise to have a professional driver teach me to drive. She came to this decision because apart from my being the last of 6 male children (experience), she had witnessed many failed attempts where I tried to “drive”. For some reason I just felt since I had been watching others for so long I would just drive too. It looked like common sense. But like I learnt about swimming, there is a reason there are people who teach these things.
After a few weeks of near fatal accidents and “clutching down” in my sleep, I was finally allowed to drive “provided someone was in the car with me”. As I became more competent, it occurred to me that my joy of learning something new had kept me from seeing that I was now the house driver. The excitement to be seen driving had now suddenly turned to the realization that I was a driver who didn’t get paid. The encouraging comments about my driving skills soon sounded like platitudes and felt like my “in lieu of payment”. It was no longer fun.
It was in this mental state that one fateful morning my sister woke me up and asked me to drive her to work then take my dad to the airport. The argument then for every errand was “for my hand to be strong” …..It must have been 5 ish in the morning and apparently I had agreed to this the night previous. The only consolation for this punishment, was that I would drive my sister’s car, the then newest Tokunbo in the house which was as we called them a “Toyota first Lady” or “alhaji thank you”….(don’t ask).
After the drop offs, I felt finally free, I could play my own mix tape, at my own volume, alone in the car, unsupervised, and I made sure Ikorodu road and it’s users knew it. As the airbag came out, I remember thinking what I would tell my mum. Not my dad, or my sister who owned the car but my mum.
In my shock I could only remember my mums number and as mobile phones had only just become available I didn’t have that many options anyway. Good people called her and I braced myself for the worst. Ignoring my bloody forehead and the glass pieces on me, I tried my best to present a “it wasn’t very serious I can explain what happened look” for my mum when she arrived.
My mum graciously thanked the good Samaritans around, and asked me if I was fine. I was waiting for the shouting but it didn’t come. She calmly asked if I wore my belt and I said yes but her stare at my forehead made me sure she knew the real answer. After she was sure I just needed to be cleaned up and had arranged for the car to be towed, she asked me to drive us in her car to the hospital. I was scared, I was shaking. I told my mum I was not going to drive for a while. I argued I was in shock and I would not be able to drive in my bloodied state. I was sure I had forgotten how to drive. In the midst of all my protests, a slap emerged.
It was fast and hard and it took a while to understand what was going on. I have never been so confused. Even JAMB couldn’t achieve that level of confusion. I was sure it wasn’t for the accident because time had passed, and I was sure my mum who loves me could see my bloodied face but I still could not connect the dots. All she said was “banye na moto kita ka anyi je hospital”. I am not sure how I did it but I drove to the hospital got cleaned up and stitched and drove us back home.
It took my eldest sisters explanation that my mum was avoiding me having a negative association with driving for me to understand the slap. But as I realized a lot later in life and subsequently confirmed from my mum, there was another reason. My mum knew me.
It is my inclination and propensity to hate and fear failure so bad, that I would rather dissociate myself entirely from said challenge than have to face it again. It has taken God’s grace and growing up to understand that failure if taken with the right attitude is how God leads us to our destiny. My mum’s slap was timely, not only to eliminate fear but to quickly teach me that the quicker you get up, the faster you learn. The faster you learn the more you appreciate mistakes and continue growing.
I rarely remember this story when people are impressed with my Lagos driving skills but the truth is, I very easily could have been the only guy in Lagos above 29 who can’t drive. Lol. What my mum knew then about me at 16, took me so many experiences and almost 3 decades to know about myself.
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