The world is indeed full of mysteries!
Back in my country Nigeria (as far as I know), the person with the most cash to rally the most goons to steal ballot papers wins an election. Here in the UK, it’s is slightly different. I still do not fully understand the intricacies but from what I can piece together, the person who wins may actually be the loser and the loser may end up being the winner – that about sums it up!
Meanwhile, at work, I’ve got a 3-year-old who try as much as I can, pronounces my name as ‘Medicine’ (It’s ‘Millicent’ by the way).
Being bombarded by the unfolding drama of the British politics as well as having to deal with the drama of several 3 to 5-year-olds this week, I am reminded that perhaps I should take myself less seriously and laugh at myself more. After all, I can rely on the Theresa Mays, Jeremy Corbyns, Nicola Sturgeons and Brexit to keep the seriousness rolling in.
Considering I was born and raised in Nigeria, I should confess that I have a natural (more like cultural) predisposition to take a lot of things seriously but now that I know better, quite unnecessarily.
For instance, the first time a preschooler asked how old I was, Shortly after I migrated to the UK, I was beyond shocked and slightly offended. He was 4, I was 27 and as far as I was concerned, that was a disrespectful thing to do… or so I thought.
Here’s the rest of our ensuing banter;
Me: “why do you want to know” (with a little edge to my voice)
Little boy: “because you look old like my mummy and daddy and gran and uncle Stephen”
Me: “WHAT! (thinking about the ‘looking old like a gran’ part) How old do you think I am?”
Little boy: “one hundred and onety nine!” ( referring to 119)
Me: “Excuse me! I am 27 years!” (I intentionally left out the ‘old’ part because I most certainly was not a granny!)
Little boy: my mummy is 33 so are you bigger or smaller than her (referring to who is older)
Me: sounding like I won the lottery “your mummy is bigger”
The African afro has been the subject of several genuine serious conversations, debate and controversies. However, as a nursery nurse, I have had the privilege of some amazing comments regarding my afro. Here’s a couple;
“Why is your hair standing up?”
“Your hair looks weird”
“What happened to your other hair?” (Poor kids! Black girls and our 50 shades of hair)
“Why is your hair all wiggly?”
“Is that your hair? Why does it look like a sponge?”
My line of work has taught me that kids really do say the darndest things (out of genuine natural curiosity – no! they are not out to get you). So I laughed at these comments, then we talk about race and how some people look different from us. Naturally, I am a girl of few words (who are you kidding?) but these kids make me thirsty all day from talking I tell you!
I also recall the first time someone pointed out to me that ‘EDINBURGH’ should be pronounced as ‘E-din-bra’ (I know! Where did the ‘a’ at the end come from right?). I had already spent some embarrassing minutes pronouncing it as ‘E-din-borg’ but I chose to turn the tables (Mmhmm! this Sista has got a mean side too). I laughed it off by asking them to pronounce ‘Oluwatobidamilare’ (I’m not even sure what it means but I can say it in one breath and that is all that matters).
Now, if only Jeremy Corbyn and Theresa May will share a plate of Haggis on national TV, we can all be walking merrily on sunshine.
Oh well! I can at least get me some sugar.