We visited the Adigun’s.
To Ben, it was just another doctor-patient congratulatory visit.
It was a delight to accompany him as I hadn’t socialized in a while.
In the end, it turned out to be with an ‘eye-opener’ of sorts.
Georgia talked about Post-partum depression, how she almost got ‘infected’ by another then-pregnant woman but ‘rejected’ it. I couldn’t help chuckling: ‘infected’ as if it were communicable. And rejected? I pinched myself to ‘ingest’ my laughter.
Ben got into the ‘mood’ and ‘juiced’ out all he knew about the disorder. I get upset when he does that: revolve everything around his profession. I wondered if Georgia felt the same.
As they chatted away, BJ and I cocooned ourselves in another world.
As I cradled him in my arms, I thought about nothing else but his serene gentility. His eyelashes were a mini-version of his dark silky hair. Here in my arms was this fragile thing metamorphosing into something unknown.
He smelt new: fresh, clean, untainted and perfect. If he were a piece of cake, only grains of flour would’ve remained of him.
I didn’t want to touch his skin with my fingers, I thought it sinful. Like he’ll get sick ‘rejecting’ the ‘infection’ from my ‘germified’ fingers.
‘It is okay to touch him’ Ben said, ‘you transfer microbes that fight infections and diseases’.
Wasn’t he just speaking with Georgia? What’s with doctors and aproko?
…’his sense of touch is ‘trained’ too’.
‘Really?’ that was Georgia. The instant I heard that, I knew it was a mistake.
It was all Ben needed to lecture her on the importance of tactile communication between mother and child and what not.
I ‘tuned’ him off and focused on BJ, enjoying the warmth our bodies emitted for one another.
I hummed an ‘I love you’ lullaby to him, my croon so low I couldn’t even hear myself. BJ must have enjoyed it because his eyes graced me like I was a piece of creamy chocolate.
More lectures and some minutes later, we were on our way home. I was reluctant to let go of BJ because I wanted to, no needed to solidify the bond we just created.
Georgia said I could come by anytime to ‘touch’ him. I gleefully accepted the offer.
We rode across Okene bridge, the persistent chant of industrious hawkers mingling with Ben’s favorite track: Alicia Keys’ ‘We are here for all of us’.
‘Aunty, buy Gala na only #50 o!,(*music*we-are-here-for-all-of-us) Oga, buy for your wife, na only #50′(we-are-for-all-of-us)(oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh…)
Money changed hands and I savored the tasty snack alone as Ben feigned dis-interest. As my teeth churned at the snack, I started thinking about BJ again.
How much he needed external forces to survive: shelter, food, touch… the same way I needed this snack to satisfy my hunger, the same way Ben re-filled the car tank at a petrol station, same way we needed Efrebo to open the gate as we drove into our home. Then it hit me!
We really are products of environment. Everything we are comes from without.
Our deepest emotions, our thoughts, desires, personality, diction, dress sense, etc are influenced by what we see, hear, perceive, smell and feel.
As simple as that analysis sounds, it is also complex.
Know why?
Because humanity is confused. Everyday, we are bombarded with quotes, movies, songs, poems, comics, books and photos throwing bouquets at individuality, independent-thinking, self-expression, self-praise, self-everything.
We are often told how special we are(some parents are not as generous though), how grateful the world must be to have us and all.
If you as much as hint otherwise, you become the Enemy. Heck, the handles on Twitter will ‘handle’ you, and send you packing!
While I am not of the mediocre-be-like-your-mates school of thought, I am certainly not overjoyed with the noise made for narcissism and me-ism. It is NOT all about ME! We NEED people to survive: an indisputable fact of nature.
Doesn’t Facebook exists because Zuckerberg copied Barners-Lee’s HTML codes to creates web pages?
‘But I invented the light bulb’, cried Thomas Edison. But, Alessandro Volta’s glowing wire was what you built upon, I reply. You only refined it with carbon, a few other things and yipppeee…there is light!
But, people love duplicacy, some argue: they hate what is, on their terms, not ‘normal’. So that in more ways than one, they shove you into their ‘machine’, mold you and ‘jubilate’ at their just finished tear-rubber product.
Still, we need those people to be ourselves. Foolish dancing to no music eh? I mean, why should I be myself when I alone exist?
You get my drift right? We need people to be different, to be what we want to be.
There’s got to be a balance so that we do not become either of the extremes: confirmed narcissists or blind copyists.
My take? We are created to be interdependent of one another.
BJ needs his mom and I as much we need him. So does the gala man and Efrebo and Ben…and you.
iammyfuture 