The Weight of Occupying Space
1.
In the university, I had this cousin that padded my non-existent social life. We lived together, attended the same classes for two years, and fought too often. But we had a shared problem — our thin, tiny selves that made us less attractive than we actually were. We’d be pressed between two large women in a Danfo with little discomfort. Many times, strangers at Eke-Awka mistook us for fresh secondary school graduates. During our early days at uni, we used more makeup than was required for the early stuffy Faculty classroom lecture. We only wore trousers. Our clavicles had holes. We spent extra time before the mirror, wearing and taking off things. Don’t get me wrong — we had boys on our necks. Our self-esteem was within a healthy range. But we didn’t just want the Dick-and-Harry attention — we coveted the red carpet. Sometimes, we would settle on broken chairs in the hostel and talk about how buxom we could get; and the effort required to get there. These were mere wishes, until we graduated. My cousin would come to visit me afterwards, and she was the prettiest thing I ever saw.
But we didn’t just want the Dick-and-Harry attention — we coveted the red carpet.
“How much do you weigh?”
“I stopped checking.”
I don’t think she stopped. Her cheeks were popping — even her backside had sprouted from nowhere. While I escorted her to the junction, I could imagine eyeballs everywhere pressed to her body. My cousin reluctantly offered her weight gain secret — bananas, yoghurt, berries, and peace of mind. She had this shine from someone who was living good — even though she grumbled about money. That was a ridiculous list, but I listened. The result is definitely worth the effort, and maybe this weight thing can finally be resolved. If this girl had mysteriously put on meat in the right places, there was nothing impossible for me. At the time, I was shuttling between 54kg to 56kg. God abeg o. I waved her goodbye, and started back to my house, knowing I was going to push myself.
2.
They lied. Matter is not just anything that has weight and occupies space. It can’t be just anything — insignificant, lying around, obscure. Matter, has got to be something. I like the shape of myself — straight, resilient yet bendable. Perhaps, the reality that I can stretch to accommodate my expectations, and that of everyone else, marks the genesis of my daily struggle. Goodness is a fruit of the Spirit that I exhale. People expect me to be nice, and that is what I am. They expect me to lend them money and forget about it, and voila, they didn’t even need to speak the words. They expect me to go out a little more, live a little more, work hard, and get something out of life. I do not hesitate. I meet someone new on Twitter, Facebook, or perhaps on the bus, and when they ask me what I do for a living — the words always flow. These days, I work a 9–5 and freelance at night because it’s how I take life seriously. Depending on who’s asking, I say I write, because that sounds intelligent. And intelligent folks are often interesting. On days when my close friends ask, I tell them I am trying to get into tech, trying to be efficient at my job, and trying to complete my writing tasks. I am really trying. I know. Some days I need their sympathy or maybe some encouragement. There is not one time I don’t have something to say. Something has to occupy the { } in a way that I’m not lying. But what is the truth? What exactly do I do? Could these occupations be different pieces in a puzzle titled I Need to Have Something Doing? Perhaps, a filler lifestyle hunting for the main event.
Perhaps, the reality that I can stretch to accommodate my expectations, and that of everyone else, marks the genesis of my daily struggle.
This constant need to matter did not originate from me — it is a shared reality for many of us walking the earth. I know this because I’d go on a date with this interesting journalist who works for multinational news corporations, and he doesn’t stop talking about himself. Funny enough, we are at a restaurant I chose because I wanted to experience the place, but his chatter reminded me he was the centre of attention. The restaurant and its ambience, forgotten. He was the red carpet — I should awe at his glory. There were too many things he said that afternoon, things that amplified his enlightenedness. Things that could make him hot cake to any Lagos babe. Things about taking flights as an undergraduate and mingling with white reporters. Weeks later, I would learn that he, too, was struggling to matter, hoping not to become a dying flame. His Snaps were only Instagram-worthy, and anything substandard could soil the name he was carving in stone. When I ask what he thought about my writing, he would say:
“What does it matter? You’re beautiful — that’s what attracted me.”
3.
Growing up in Nigeria offers its fair share of territorial disadvantages. You need to graduate top of your class, come from old money or new money, or possess some extraordinary talent to get on the map. Whatever you do, make sure you get on that map. Opting for an average life equals misery — either it dey or it didn’t dey. When you emerge from a society whose grounds are antagonistic to your seeds, you defer to all that optimistic japa talk. If you’re fortunate enough to be freed of black tax till you’re thirty and earning significantly, good for you. But if you’re otherwise, you need to put on some weight quickly.
Zuckerberg’s Metaverse may be some failed experiment, but we are definitely carving our lives by social media standards. Facebook and Twitter are heavy yardsticks that influence our actual thought processes, shaping our tongues, and moulding our beliefs. That old classmate just left for the US on scholarship and started a YouTube channel. The uncle who refused to settle your elder brother posted the Prado he just acquired. Your till-death-do-us-part girlfriend has married her heartthrob. You don’t come close. There is you, doubling a 9–5 with occasional side gigs that leave you begging for your payment, watching life swipe past you. Did I forget to mention LinkedIn? You need a full-body suit made of impenetrable self-confidence to survive without crying after a few minutes on that platform. The entire world is getting ahead quickly, but your head seems trapped within the same sheets for years. You’re stuck in undersized shoes, earnestly desiring anything bigger. You’re ashamed to invite the woman you like to your apartment — the house isn’t really yours. You have to get out of this country, everyone keeps suggesting to you. There is an urgency with which you must approach your life now. Leave. There’s nothing here for you — do you want to end up with nothing?
And if you are a Nigerian woman, the odds are perpetually against you if you’re attempting to swallow big frogs. These days, you can go to the university, gather all the degrees that exist, build a house for your parents, and still feel like trash when you do not have a man over your head. No, this feeling is not always externally inflicted. You see things happen to over-achieving women and you don’t want that to be you. You can make moves — but play it safe and ensure you don’t scare all the good men away. Thanks to all the female empowerment programmes but success deters a ‘good’ man, so leave some boxes for your husband to tick.
4.
The evil consequence of wanting more (and nobody told me about this) is a fervid irritation with the present. You are always eager to skip to the better days, you hate the bland, uneventful days. Everything triggers me, urging me to interrogate my relevance. Did she just like my picture without commenting? Was this not worth a comment? This feeling will have you doing too many unrelated things hoping the stars align themselves one day. I prefer to roll out several opportunities like dice because it seems too dangerous to stick to one pursuit these days. So yes, we will try out everything that seems to be working out for others — the pie is gigantic enough for everyone to get a slice. The Nigerian in me will be an engineer, writer, content creator, digital marketer, web designer, and everything that can fetch money. I will take on two, or three jobs, soak up the manager’s jabs, and collect multiple salaries, because it’s expected that I make something out of life. But I learned too quickly that the jack-of-all-trades lifestyle is subtly fueled by a fear of failure — an unbelievable thing, a ghost lurking in the shadows expecting you to make one wrong move. So, it’s easier to sit in your mundane job, to live a calculated life. It would be wiser to have several moves right now, wouldn’t it? Stick those noses into everything you can find, I tell myself. It’s the healthiest training I can give my body in the moment. Regardless, my life needs to skip to the buttered bread already.
5.
Motivational speakers don’t seem to understand. When you celebrate others, it means yours is just around the corner. Hate to break it to you: success isn’t wishful thinking or Santa Claus who gives all the children Christmas presents. You can do all the right things, within your horoscope of right things, and still fail. It’s not always within your control.
6.
Prayers have their way of soothing me, freezing all my worries in time, and there, I just exist. Thank God for his reassuring presence, for strengthening my mind. Else, I would have joined the queue of depressed Gen Zs.
I have had interesting experiences in my life. Eventful relationships. Sugary wins. Unexpected good turns. A steady good life in spite of occasional chaos. But all this sweetness does not prepare you for the rejections that hit like a fast-moving train from nowhere. If you are not guided, all your self-esteem will deflate after some bouts of failures. And you’ll stop moving forward.
“You look very fat now.” Someone said to me lately.
That is a good/bad compliment, depending on who is receiving it. Just be careful how you use it. Yes, I now weigh more than I used to — (I didn’t use my cousin’s recipe — I simply started eating and rested more). Climbed to a staggering 63.5kg and it feels like satisfaction. I intend to hit the gym next year, because I must be healthy, but for now I enjoy the way I look. In the abstract sense, we’re all working hard to occupy space. Pushing buttons to gain some weight. This social-media world does not even make it easy again. Everyone’s casually becoming attention whores — the person with the loudest voice wins. Your fears are valid. What can I say? Keep working hard at that thing, creating value, and offering pieces of yourself to the world. In a few years, you’ll look into the mirror and realize that you too, occupy space.
