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Gaya

The question we asked was simple: “Would your seven-year-old self be proud of who you are today?” But it turned out we weren’t ready for how loaded the responses we received were. Some were inspiring, while others were heartbreaking.

Seven-year-old Nanna will certainly not be proud of twenty-five-year-old her. The dream was always to be a barrister and, one day, become a SAN. She read so much more than she played, even during the holidays, just so she could become like Daddy’s big sister, Aunty Angie. Unfortunately, Daddy and Mummy were involved in a tragic accident that sapped all our family’s savings and investments before they eventually died.

By thirteen, I became an orphan and was left at the mercy of mean family members. The trauma lingered through my teenage years and affected my grades terribly. From topping the class to coming fifteenth out of twenty-five. I eventually flopped WAEC and JAMB and couldn’t get into Obafemi Awolowo University to study law. My Aunty Angie was too “disappointed” to pay for me to attend a private university, which was obviously less competitive.

So, I had to settle for criminology. I am currently doing my youth service and loathe the thought of what comes next for me. Because I have no idea.

Ironically, I believe seven-year-old Lydia will be proud of herself. Not because her path was smooth and free of detours, but because, against all odds, she found her way back.

I got pregnant at the tender age of eighteen, and that absolutely ruined my life. At least, so I thought. It came as a huge shock and disappointment to my parents, who were parish pastors at the time.

To them, they had done everything to raise me and my siblings in the way of the Lord. So, coupled with the fact that I was the first and only daughter, everybody had an opinion on how much of a disappointment I was to my family and God.

I was out of school for two years to take care of my baby girl, then ASUU struck. And while I was planning to start learning a skill to keep myself busy, COVID-19 came. Then ASUU again. So, altogether, I was delayed from entering university for four solid years.

Apart from the disappointment I felt for letting everyone down, my biggest fear was that nobody would ever marry me because I had a child, which meant I was carrying "luggage".

But in about three months from today, I’ll be getting traditionally married. My baby girl, Boluwatito, turns ten in October. I am a licensed optometrist. And honestly, I can’t stop counting my blessings.

Can Odiniru even remember who he wanted to be at seven years of age? You know, the challenges of life have a way of clouding one’s vision, especially for those of us who have had to hustle from birth. At seven, I was learning how to be a vulcaniser, just like my father.

I was able to secure a job in a mining factory back in the 1900s with an Irish miner in Jos, Plateau State, at just fourteen years of age. And as the first child, I eventually had to take on the education of my two younger siblings as my responsibility because my parents’ peasant incomes were hardly enough to put food on the table.

I am proud to say that my younger brother is a graduate of petrochemical engineering today, and my sister is a registered nurse. I never got to further my own education beyond SSCE, but I feel fulfilled by merely being the older brother to two graduates.

Many years later, I have established my own mining factory, and I am happily married with three children. So, yes, I believe that seven-year-old Odiniru would be proud, because he could never have dreamed that he would come this far in life.

Seven-year-old Mfon will be very proud of herself. Honestly, she deserves the joy and satisfaction she has found in Christ. And as she always dreamed, she got married at twenty-five (to her first and truest love) and has a thriving career in marketing. Well, the latter wasn’t always the plan…but it’s absolutely worth it, regardless.

I was born into a dysfunctional home. I am the only child of my parents together, but I have half and step-siblings on both sides. My mum raised me as a single mum, so I never really knew a father’s love. Although she did her best to ensure I didn’t lack anything, there was just a void her love couldn’t fill.

We were regular churchgoers, but I didn’t have a personal encounter with God until I was eighteen. And since then, my life has never been the same. Ever since I started hearing teachings on the love of God as my Father—in the local church my husband and I currently attend—the void was filled.

I became more confident in myself and opened up my heart to be loved because the family background I lacked had made me feel insecure and unloveable prior to that time. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Four Nigerians reflect on the lives they imagined at seven and the unexpected paths that brought them to where they are today.


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