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| Photo by Towfiqu barbhuiya from Unsplash |
My dear Chiboy,
Kedu? How are you holding up, nwa m. I am sorry for the part I played in seizing your phone. I know it’s not the upgrade you wanted. I hope you forgive me someday. Truthfully, I think you are better off without it and I still think it's a better option than telling your parents the truth. Think of it as a small sacrifice for the big thing. My barter for bailing you. The price for my silence. There are a lot of things I want to tell you, in person. I am packing my things right now but you know your aunt, unable to decide what to take. I thought this letter would get to you faster.
I know. I know your plans, well laid plans to be a man at 18, and to be completely independent soon after. Your reasons were straightforward, you could sleep whenever you want, eat whatever you want, and go wherever you want. You would have found out, like I did, that to do whatever you want, you need money. You must have seen the other perks too. The girls that smile more often and play less hard to get. The extra respect. The coolness it adds to your swag. The halo it puts on your head. You become untouchable; that morale. Suddenly, you realize that you can be anything. You can be a man. You can be more. You need not be 18. You need only have money. You would have also realized, like I did, that you need money to make money.
At first, the plan was simple: finish secondary school at 16. University at 21—or 22 if Dad has his way. Work for a while, gain experience. Start your business. Then, it became more elaborate: a millionaire at 30 (Africa’s youngest). A billionaire at 40. A legend at 50. I planned with you. I understood your ambitions.This desire to be more. What I do not understand is your impatience. How you lost yourself in it. Why you would take part in Ponzi schemes. To be cool? And like that is not enough, you empty your parent’s pockets in it.
Do you remember the time you were preparing for common entrance? You didn’t sleep a wink; you read so hard that your nose bled severally. When you became the best student in the entire south east region, parents brought their children to you so you would tell them your secret and touch them with your ‘anointing.’ “Put in the work,” you said. But it’s not what they want to hear. It seemed too obvious. You laughed as you told me the story, “Children of nowadays think they can pass overnight. Like me that spent many sleepless nights is a fool”. How do you expect money to be any different?
You have always been this way: extreme. All or nothing. I fear more for this road you’ve taken. I blame myself partly. Maybe I should have taught you balance. I should have told you, as often as I encouraged you, that being ambitious is good but being good is better. That middle ground does not always mean compromise. It can also mean completeness. Getting all of you, your values and ambitions, to meet at a point. Because getting one without the other is still losing yourself. Take your time; find you. All of you. Balance them. I didn’t give you the money to save you from your punishment (God knows your father would have killed you). I sent it because I believe this is a one-time mistake. You don’t enjoy your classes anymore so you made more friends. Cooler friends. More manly, perhaps. And they taught you what you suppose is a better plan.
I know you live at a time when the size of a man’s pocket matters more than what is in his head. I know you have been teased for being a nerd. And being too serious. You can be serious for all you care, son. If they don’t like it, it is their problem. Not yours. Do not put yourself under pressure. Ukwa ruo oge ya, o daa. You are a man just by being. You do not need money to prove your masculinity. Do not misinterpret me, Chiboy. It is good to have money. A lot of necessities depend on it. But not your life, nor your ego. You will make money. You will be rich. There is no Nobel prize for the first.
Chiboy, nothing makes a man more independent than the books he has read; the knowledge he has acquired. The people you meet and your experiences count, yes — barely. Only a few can teach you as much and why learn from only your lifetime when you can learn from a thousand? Trust me. This is not my attempt to get you back on the education path. Your mother says you want to apprentice for one Oga in Nnewi and learn his spare part business. It’s fine if your plans have changed. You know I will always support them. After all, there are many ways to kill a rat. But, it’s not all about getting money. It is also about keeping it. It’s about how to get it back after losing it, and son, you would lose it. Books will tell you more. Far more than I have ever told you. Your greatest wealth is in the pages of a book.
Chi boy, being independent is more than financial wealth. It is a lot of things. Like cleaning up after yourself. Like cooking because you are hungry or another person is. It is doing things because they have to be done; because it is time to do them; because it is right to do so. No woman is being trained to look after you, especially not in this your Gen Alpha generation. Moreover, it defeats the purpose of independence. I know mom doesn’t say it, but she is happy when you help out. She used to boast it, of your perfect grades. I used to, too.
Social media has normalized so many things. Like polygamy and Yahoo. It doesn’t mean you should normalize it too. Son, have shame. Have pride. There are a lot of things to boast of, like perfect grades. But sleeping around is not one of them. Neither is your body count. In fact, they should never feature in your conversations. Don’t say, ‘I outsmarted him’ when you stole. You are not clever, you are a thief. Being disciplined is not for your sisters alone. Neither is virginity. It is for everyone. Know your values. Filter the noise. Keep sight of what matters. See this time away from your phone as an opportunity to stay away from social media. From the guy that had a Benz at 22 and an iPhone 16 in SS 3. Asides that you are not them, you do not know the source of this wealth. Don't compare! My brother bleeds to put food on your table.
Chi boy, I know you want to ‘man up’ like Daddy tells you to. God forbid I stop you. But you also have to know that it’s okay to fail and fall. To fall and cry. I do the same and I do not have more blood flowing through my veins. Not any more than you do. It's okay to not man up sometimes. To sit still. To breathe. To break a little. It's okay to hurt, Son. It is part of our biological process. We hurt. We cry. You will not be any different. You are just as human.
I cannot tell you all that manhood entails. But I can tell you what it is not. Being a man doesn’t mean suppressing all emotions aside from anger. It doesn't mean flaring up and expecting an apology afterwards. It doesn’t mean being afraid of vulnerability. It's okay to not have all the answers. Your father did not. I did not. And neither did they. Everyone had to figure it out, one at a time. Even now, I still do. You do not have to do it all by yourself. Asking for help doesn’t make you weak, or less manly.
I know Mom shouts a little too much and Dad talks a little too little. I know you have a lot of questions about girls and hormones. I know they expect you to figure it out on your own. Don’t be hard on them. It's some sort of taboo around here. Well, a good thing I am not from around here. Hahaha. We will talk about it when I come. If the boys in schools have told you for a few pennies that it takes money to get girls. I will tell you for free that it will take more than money to keep them.
By the time you read this letter, I would be on my way to you. I spoke to your school. They are willing to make an exception for you to join the commerce class midterm. I imagine it will fit your change of path better. Your mother was not so difficult. She only bemoaned her lost “mama dokinta” title. I have not told your father. I thought it would be easier to convince him in person. I know how stubborn my brother can be. The mangos in the compound have begun to ripen. I will bring some for you. And if you are still good, I may just buy you another PS 5. I heard Dad broke the last one when you failed physics last term. Be good. I love you.
To every Rose that grew from Concrete; Blossom!
Yours,
Aunty Ogoo.
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