You forcefully open the double doors to your room to see your reflection in the large spotless mirror staring at you, as you try to avoid the Master. Your image kills the mustard seed of hope you have been trying to nurture – your eyes exhausted from too many tears. Your lips are chapped, and the glory of your skin is in the past - your beautiful skin as your mother would remark. You wonder if it’s because of its fairness or the hairless sight of it, or the chubby feeling when touched. And then you reckon the eyes of your mother are not yours. Your beauty lies in your freedom, you think to yourself. You affirm that you don’t belong here, not in this castle with grey walls, lofty ceilings, and heavy brown curtains. Not viewing ancient paintings of wars. Not on a bed for a crowd and certainly not wearing these expensive clothes too pure to smear. You recall the first day of your arrival at your new home. You were greeted by a servant who avoided your eyes as he bowed his head and sai...
He was seven years old, in basic 2 when his mother dragged him across his primary school hall because he attained the third position in his class out of 30 pupils. On their way home, she yelled, hit, blamed and threatened that if he dared to come third again, there would be no more privileges like tv, games, sports, swimming lessons, etc. When they got home, she summoned his private tutor, passing the leftover anger and frustration on the man who had been tutoring her son for the past six months.
“If you think that calling you three times a week to teach my son is a joke, you are the joker here. I pay you better than any of your clients, yet my son still comes as the third-best pupil in his class. Is it that those who came first and second were created specially or, do they have seven brains in one head? You better fix this in the coming term because there is nothing meant for my son than to be the winner. No place for third or second place in this house!”
“Why do you always want to win, Chike?”
“I don’t know, Doc. I carry the blood of the Williams, maybe that’s why. Losing is like giving up a pound of my flesh even if my story has no connection with The Merchant of Venice. I feel useless when I fall below my expected goal; it’s almost as if I become invisible to others when I fail at a task or exam. It could also be because I have been taught that failure is for the weak; I never want to be weak, Doc. My wife does not understand this, and here I am with you, trying to let down my guard. Why? So she can be the superstar of the marriage and not me. Or so she can make me feel less important.”
They call it BOJUBOJU. It's a hide and seek game that children play. You are to find the others wherever they might have hidden, to win the game. If you do not do this in time, you lose. Bintu was not so good in this game because she checked obvious places. Her brother was the hero all the time because he had eyes like an eagle. Bintu gave up on the game, focusing on knitting with her grandma instead.
“Why are you too comfortable?”
“Hmm, that’s a tough question you know… I think I have most of what I need, so I see no reason to stress my mind for things that I guess most people want to have in life.”
“Things like what?”
“Things like lots of money, the best of jobs, the latest cars, destination trips and other accolades that make people respect you. It’s not as if I am not interested in having a good life but if I have to compete with anyone for it, a far cry it becomes. Tomorrow always takes care of itself, as my father would say. Besides, every time I saw myself competing for anything in the past, I always lost."
She had been the president of the women’s swimming club for five years straight. It was a new year with the election drawing closer. She was not interested in becoming the president for another year. However, the feeling of losing to her opponent was tragic. “Can I just hear that I won the most votes while my opponent takes the presidential seat?” When election day arrived, she was sweating like a thief. This was when she had to ask herself: “Why do I even want to win? I am tired of the post and could use the meeting times for a better activity in my weekly routine.” When she was proclaimed the winner, the sweating ceased and she felt an affirmation that she was good enough, that people loved her and that her dignity would be intact.
The spirit of winning is human even though Fred Quimby used a cat and a mouse named Tom and Jerry to relate this feeling. You can call it victory, triumph, growth, prize money, etc. Many times it is accompanied by failure standing at the other side, crying, frowning, feeling jealous, regretting, rewinding and all sorts of if-toh-say thoughts. Some people have learned to celebrate with winners, some winners have learned to share their trophies with their opponents. Even our religion preaches winning. Our sports scream it. As for our daily survival quest, it blares it. In Nigeria, failing is not up for discussion; if you fail you might lose your life. If there is fuel scarcity, you must win at fuel station queues. If the power grid is down, you must still win PHCN with your generator. If ASUU is on strike, you must win against an employer looking for a not more than 25 years old employee. If Buhari is in town, you must win traffic. If you are frustrated, you must win the urge to get drunk or you would get slapped by Bianca. If you are a police officer, you must win the urge to collect bribes. You must inspire to aspire to perspire so that you can acquire as our motivational gurus would say!
In your struggle to win, it is necessary to consider the advantages and disadvantages. May we learn how to win not just for ourselves but for others. Even Putin wants to win. Unfortunately, not all of us can be winners. But we can support others to gain victory and be awarded the best supporting actor; it will still be a good recognition. For those who persevered when failure smiled at you daily, you are our Einstein. Cheers to the fathers and mothers who had to fail for their children to succeed; you are our inspiration. To all the bosses who have treated their staff with respect, you are our Bitcoin. Winning is the sweetest when we all win together in the end!
Don't forget to be honest!
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