Gen Z, the Nigerian Diaspora & the Costs of Nigerian Exceptionalism
Installment II of The Costs of Nigerian Exceptionalism Series
Part I — The Children, Too
In my most recent piece on Nigerian exceptionalism, I overviewed three major ways in which Nigerian exceptionalism is destroying Nigeria and Nigerians; the cornerstone of which is the immense cultural and emotional gap between Diaspora youth and our parents. A significant proportion of the Nigerian millennials at the center of my research have now also become parents. The traumatic experiences of our childhoods are most certainly spilling over into our children, and the way we parent them. So this piece will focus on our relationship with our children, through a lens into my relationship with my child; I’ll go into our relationship with our parents in the next piece.
I’m a mother. My daughter’s 13 now, and far more intelligent than I am. She’s super sweet, super loving, super capable, and she’s my biggest inspiration. I’ve always wanted a lot of children. I grew up with three of my six siblings and we had a lot of fun, ultimately. We had our issues, had our fights of course, but we had a great time overall. We spent a lot of time with other families, other kids, and I always found myself to be a natural nurturer. Thus from a younger age than most of my contemporaries, I was eager to have children.
So it happened, under somewhat unconventional circumstances: I met a man that I married briefly and had the most incredible, unbelievable, wonderful fruit from that relationship, my daughter. Yetunde was the most stunning thing I’d ever seen. I was beyond blown away. Transfixed. First by the fact that I could give birth to someone, then by the fact that I could produce someone so beautiful, so light in spirit, so joyful. I just can’t tell you how much joy she brought me.
Having grown up the way that I did, I was committed to doing things radically differently with Yetunde, and with all my children. It was of utmost importance to me that my children felt loved, adored, celebrated, appreciated, nourished at all times. That they experienced sweetness from me; and that they felt like I would always be there for them, no matter what.
These were the things that were important to me–along with friendship, closeness, emotional intimacy–in bringing my child into the world. In the beginning, these things flowed freely, to an extent. Considering what I discussed in the previous article, it’s been interesting for me to see how economic hardship can influence the way you parent, especially as someone with a Nigerian psyche at the end of the day.
Part II
Daddy Dearest
My connection with my daughter was pretty enjoyable in the beginning. And then her father died. Before her father died, I got to be the sweet mom. She’d walked all over me, which was fine, because there was someone else there to balance it out with sternness. But now, I had to be the stern parent.
Yetunde had always surprised me with her depth of thought, her intellect, just her overall genius. She was two years old at her father’s passing, and I didn’t say anything to her about it for weeks. She’d come to the beginning of the funeral, but I didn’t let her see his body or stay for the service.
So one day we’re walking, just strolling along our street. and she asks me, “Did my Daddy die?”
I’m like Whoa, kid, what are you talking about? Out loud, I say, “Why do you ask that?”
She says, thoughtfully and calmly, “Because I don’t see him anymore.”
In spite of all the rules of Nigerian exceptionalism, her Gen X father was actually quite sweet to her. Granted she was still a baby, but they had a really loving relationship. In the wake of all this, my commitment to Yetunde was rather different from that of most of my parents’ generation: it was a commitment to joy…affection…adoration…sweetness…warmth…kindness. But even though this was my commitment to her, it wasn’t always what I delivered to her.
I had my triggered moments when I’d go off and get angry. I never liked the idea of putting my hands on her, spanking her, but I did it a few times. I was definitely adamant about education, making sure she had the very best educational opportunities within our reach. Her father was an educational consultant who helped countless young people and their parents scale educational heights that they’d previously struggled to attain. I’d worked for his company up until he passed away.
So education was extremely important to me, my philosophy being that she needed to learn from a wholistic viewpoint, in a format that allowed her to know herself, know her heritage, know her culture and use her gifts well. That was my ultimate goal for her education–and for her to always just be in joy as much as possible. I eventually put her into one of the last remaining Black independent schools, and we built a community there.
Part III
Never get off a moving rollercoaster
My daughter came out as an artist. She literally belted out of the womb. She was the one who made it clear that I could not run away from my Highest Self, my artist self. I had to pay attention to that. The kind of imagery she created at a very young age–three, four years old–was quite advanced. The photographs she took, the videos, they were very high quality. So she reminded me consistently that I needed to be creative, inching me more and more in the direction of a fully creative life every day.
Two things happened while she was in elementary school which shifted our relationship significantly. One, I had the opportunity to work remotely, which meant that I could now actually see her, spend time with her, take her to the park, and not be completely exhausted in the process. So I did that, I worked from home. Which made it possible for us to spend the summer of 2016 in Nigeria together.
The second thing is that I had the opportunity to go to grad school, which was an extremely difficult decision. Applying was one thing. Actually uprooting our lives was extremely difficult to decide on, to accept, but I knew I had to do it for my sake and for her sake. In one of my triggered angry moments, snapping at her and seeing the sadness it caused her, I swore that whatever it took I had to make sure that I was able to show up from a joyful, healthy, healed place. A happy, fulfilled place.
So I just knew that grad school was the best thing for both of us, ultimately, though I knew it wouldn’t be easy. She spent my first year of grad school with my parents, the Nigerian exceptionalists who loved her very much. We were separated, so we didn’t get to be besties in the ways that we were accustomed to being besties before that. But, we stayed in touch. I went to visit, every six to eight weeks, watched her grow from a distance, while I grew in my own direction.
We were reunited less than a year later, and things were definitely different. Her interests had changed. My energy had shifted. I was a lot more joyful now, more open, and a lot more centered on my fulfillment. I was also now reeling from the Sleeping While Black episode. She found my little bit of fame quite amusing.
But we had a great summer. We went to Nigeria, Ghana, Japan. We shopped for adire. It was tight, but somehow, we experienced all the things. We spent a week in Ibadan being terrorized by mosquitoes, but we were together, we were present for one another, and we had a good time. She was happy, very happy.
My second year of grad school, it was us two again, hustling, and she got to see the raw deal, of me being thirtysometihng in grad school. It was absolutely treacherous at times. It was like walking through the North Pole with an iron rod, with strong winds beating your face as you’re just trying to figure out how to survive it each day. But we had a great relationship then, we got closer. She was getting older, wiser, more articulate, and funnier. I compiled a lot of her funny quotes from that time for a book that we will eventually publish together. She was generally happy.
“The elephant in the room just farted.” — Yetunde Olowosoyo
July 27, 2019 — 12:54PM
Part IV
2020 is a Decade of a Year
Then we moved to Cambridge. She spent a little bit of time in school in Cambridge before the pandemic hit. Once the pandemic hit, I took her out of school, and meditated on my old fantasy of homeschooling her, giving her access to the knowledge and the information that I knew was most valuable in life. We tried out a digital homeschool cooperative with other mothers and children after some time–initially she just did the packets that her school sent her and not much else. Thankfully, my daughter’s always been an avid reader like myself and her father. She absolutely loved to devour books, and very swiftly too. So her education became a very amorphous unschooling experience.
“Your phone calls always sound like ,’Did you know you could die from touching somebody who’s touched somebody who’s touched somebody who had the coronavirus?!’” — Yetunde Olowosoyo
Mar 12, 2020 — 7:08PM BST
Let’s back up a little bit. Prior to Cambridge, my obsession was getting into a top PhD program. My focus was on getting all the applications in, doing all the things it took to get scholarships and other resources. By the time we got to Cambridge, my obsession was NOIR Labs. NOIR Labs gave us promise–of financial freedom, of all kinds of ultimate freedom, all multidimensional freedom. Finding balance between this calling, which was absolutely all-consuming energetically, and parenting her in the most attentive, loving and kind ways possible, it was a process, and still is. I saw NOIR Labs then, as I do now, as an avenue and a pathway to Liberate both of us in all the ways, to keep us sustainably Liberated for the rest of our lives and for our future generations.
But it also meant I had lesser capacity to be a friend, parent, energy keeper for her. My daughter’s very interesting because she’s very adaptive. Though she might act out, it’s not in the ways that we expect that most kids might act out. She does the most minimal, most subtle acting out. You have to really pay attention.
Now we’re in a pandemic, we’re trying the homeschool thing, I’m trying all the things that I know should work. But I’m also trying to keep us alive, trying to make sure that our bills are paid and this is extremely stressful for me.
“You’re not going to America without me.” — Yetunde Olowosoyo
Dec 25, 2019 — 7:28 PM BST
There’s a lot of stress, there’s a lot of worry, there’s a lot of wonder, there’s a lot of pressure. But I’m also meditating and doing the spiritual work, doing all the things that will help me to be okay so that I can be present for her. So the first year of the pandemic was very difficult for us, and I think we both kind of withdrew into our cocoons.
Yetunde found ways to take care of herself if I wasn’t emotionally available. I’d already taught her how to cook, how to do laundry, how to keep a clean home. She had her tools, her devices, her books. Between all of that, and whatever energy I was able to muster up to give her, she stayed playful. We had sad days, for sure. Many more than I had ever previously imagined were possible. But she always had some joy on the inside, and we were always able to bring it out eventually. For that I’m eternally grateful.
Her father had said to me once when I used to question whether I was a worthwhile parent, “This child is very happy. That means you’re doing something right.” All these years, I’ve held onto that. I’ve held hard onto that.
So yeah, the pandemic was difficult, as for billions of us. We had a lot of moves from home to home, and country to country, city to city. Ultimately, in the pressure of life and in the means of doing the work and all of that, I had my exasperated moments. But we pressed on toward the dreams which had inspired this unique journey.
Part V
Be Here Now
Those such moments are disappearing, I declare. Where we are now, there’s a lot more settling happening, a lot more rooting–mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually. A lot more teaching that I’m able to do, much more presence for conversation and information sharing–for consultation, guidance, speaking, teaching and learning together.
One of the most supernatural gifts Yetunde has is her infinite patience. She is by far the most patient person I know, or have ever met. I know this was a huge gift of Divinity to me because when she was born, I was the most impatient person you ever met.
Over the years, my patience has just inched towards an acclimation and knowledge of hers. So in all these changes, in all these stops and starts, in all these doubts, in all these difficulties, in all these hardships, she’s been patient with me. She’s been kind. She’s never been mean to me. There’s been a few quips here and there about how I need to get a job, but she’s always been super supportive and kind. The one thing that I do well, which has helped her patience, is communication. Is keeping her abreast of what’s going on. Not treating her like a bag that I’m just taking on my journey, but a part of the team.
And while there are some things that are too much for a child to know, there are a lot of logistical matters that are essential for a child to know, in order for them to understand what’s happening around them. I believe that has been super helpful, super critical in our journey, in her being able to navigate how different and how difficult it has been.
“Humanity’s going to die out soon. It really doesn’t matter if your hair is short.” — Yetunde Olowosoyo
Jul 27, 2020 — 9:45PM BST
So here we are now in a place of post-ish pandemic. Rooting for the first time in about three years. We’re building a new relationship, cultivating our relationship anew; and redefining what it means to be parent and child in partnership, in support of one another, and being able to work together in ways that make her feel like she gets to be a child and I get to be my full self as well.
So here I have this tremendous opportunity to more deeply activate what I’ve truly always wanted for her. Considering how Nigerian exceptionalism has influenced me in my quest for educational attainment and superior entrepreneurial success, I look at her and I hope to find balance. I hope to find a way to give her the opportunities for peak access, peak support, peak success, but with balance–with the ability to know yourself and be grounded, be in peace, be joyful and be hopeful.
Part VII
What Love Is
Love for me is teaching. One of my primary love expressions is making sure that those around me know what they need to know in order to survive, thrive and to be their highest selves. That is the primary way that I intentionally show love to my daughter: giving her the tools, the resources, the knowledge that will help her to thrive, even without me. To be able to do whatever it takes to build a fulfilled life–not just a rich life, like a Nigerian exceptionalist would ask for her. One of the key ways I’ve taught her this is by pursuing a fulfilled life myself, and being transparent about the process in so doing. But I also built a curriculum for this idea, a curriculum including the things that I believe that she needs to learn, as essential, as core to her existence, and to thriving.
I’m building a new type of education for my daughter. An education that allows me to cultivate a new intimacy with her, an intimacy that recognizes her wholeness, that appreciates the ways in which she is different from me and inspirational to me. I’ve learned so much from my daughter and so many of the other beautiful children around me, and my goal is to cultivate that learning, in a space that elevates joy, health, wealth, wellness and celebration, hence we’re creating Black Genius University together.
Parenting, for me, is loving and adoring my child in such a way that allows me to do whatever it takes to give her what she needs to survive and thrive without me. Give her the knowledge, encouragement, support, love and kindness that she needs to be a high vibrational vessel in this lifetime. Making sure she has a roof over her head, and she has basic needs, that goes without saying. That’s not me doing anything special. Keeping her alive is keeping me alive, so that’s not me doing her any kind of favor.
Creating a world worthy of her…that’s what loving parenting means to me in my particular constellation and journey. I’ve come to realize that as opposite as this may seem from what my parents’ generation focused on, it’s really not too far off. Just like them, I am seeking to give my child(ren) the tools to go further in life than I could have.
Part VIII
Towards a Mastery of Parenting
Of all the Nigerians in the Diaspora, Gen Z is least likely to identify with their Nigerian heritage. They are so immersed in the trappings of this Western world, as we millennials focus on building the New World, that culling them out into a deep appreciation of where they come from seems like an impossible task. But the thing is, what our children want more than anything is more of us.
I believe that mastering parenting is one of the key avenues we have for Liberating ourselves. If we can all somehow learn to parent well, parent beautifully, parent powerfully, parent joyfully, then we will heal ourselves in the process; and our children will carry that healing. Our families will be healed and united and strengthened. Parenting is what helped me to forgive my parents, because I had most certainly held a grudge against them for the better part of my twenties. Even when I thought I had let go, I found out that there was still much more forgiving that I needed to do.
When you become a parent, you realize how hard it is to parent. You don’t take the things for granted that you expected from your parents, because you realize how hard it is to find those things to give, especially under economic duress. If we can heal that bond between us and our parents, that’s how we’ll do the greatest job of connecting our kids with our parents.
One of our key responsibilities as parents is to bridge the gap between the younger and the older generations, to ensure that our children truly know their grandparents, and recognize themselves in their grandparents, and their Ancestors. It’s the rooting of all humanity, the understanding that Yeah, I came from somewhere, I’m known by some people. There are some people who preceded me who gave me my DNA, who have my DNA. And they are my rooting. As far as I came from them, I need to know them.
So I call on Nigerian millennial parents to parent deeply, parent emotionally, parent connectedly. To eschew the trappings of Nigerian exceptionalism, and to focus on what our children really really need, which is our love and our presence. And us using our gifts to help them use their gifts. If we can give our children the very best of ourselves, then they will have much more access to, and much more knowledge of, the very best of themselves. And they’ll be far better equipped to navigate this life in joyful and healthful ways. They will then truly be free, and they will radiate Liberation across our dimension. Ase.
Begin to heal your intergenerational trauma using the Nigerian Parent Handbook. And if you’d be interested in my Grad School Master Class, please do let me know in dms or comments.
xo
Read Ch 1 and 3 of this series right here on Medium!
Ch 1: The Costs of Nigerian Exceptionalism
Ch 3: There is Rice at Home: Nigerian Parents, Western Hegemony & Healing Intergenerational Trauma