Mama! I’m ugly!

This story was published on October 26th 2019. It was written by Solace-Rose (2018–2020 Cohort)

Mama! I’m ugly!

During my first week in Glasgow, a new acquaintance and I walked into a pub. As expected, the ‘staring competition’ began and as usual , I simply ignored them. I was dreading it, but I knew it was coming.

Friend: “ You are so lucky you know “ bingo! I smiled. Like clockwork I knew where the conversation was going but I feigned surprise, as usual.

Me: “lucky? How do you mean?”

Friend : “ oh come on, don’t tell me you didn’t notice how you grabbed everyone’s attention when we walked in. You are so lucky cuz you are so beautiful. It must make you feel really good and special to be noticed.”

As much as I dreaded having this particular conversation, I couldn’t seem to escape it , no matter my geographical location.

Me: “ Listen, I am beautiful and of course I feel good that I am. But you got it wrong. I don’t think I’m beautiful because all these people think I am. I think I’m beautiful because I know that I am. And I would feel that way regardless of how they saw me. “ And again, as expected I got the you-are-so-full-of-yourself-roll-my-eyes reaction and the topic was dropped.

If I had a dollar for every time, I brushed off such comments, I’d be giving Zuckerberg a run for his money but just like my friend, it seemed no one understood or believed me when I tried to explain my extreme lack of interest in external validation in almost everything. For me it was and is still quite “normal” to be noticed when I walk into a room. Back home, my life as a television personality made being stared at , in every way and by both sexes, quite “normal”. Even before all that , being ‘outstanding’ was my ‘normal’.

Growing up, I was what one would describe a “child star”. You couldn’t touch me. By age 10 I had appeared on television several times acting and doing poetry. I was already a stage presenter at the National Theatre of Ghana and top of my class/school in every subject except maths (still hate it 🙄). Now this, in an ideal situation , shouldn’t have been a problem. But my situation wasn’t ideal. Far from it. Bottom-line , my life as a multitalented pre-teen was not fun. To put it nicely, it was HORRIBLE. I grew up an independent self-confident child in a Ghanaian environment where it was preferred that children be seen and not heard. A good girl/boy was one who kept mute in all situations involving adults and did not speak up or speak their mind. That we were surrounded by mostly timid children , meant my siblings and I were pretty much aliens. By God was I bold ! I didn’t have a shy bone in my body, and I spoke my truth without fear. Teachers loved me. But my peers hated me. And that’s how the bullying came to be.

There was a particular group of girls in school who simply abhorred me. They were considered the ‘hot girls. Their grades were not as impressive as they should have been most times and this made our teachers descend on them, ‘encouraging’ them to “ follow in Solace’s footsteps and study harder”. They made my life miserable. For years they tormented me, calling me names. When I was 7 , I had an accident that left a 4-inch gash on my already big and pointy forehead. Guess what they named it? A torchlight! ‘worst’ of all, I was slim. Worst ? you ask. Yes worst. I grew up in the early 90’s, where the symbols of Ghanaian beauty were thick thighs and curvy hips , ( to an extent it still is ) a 5.4 foot 11-year-old with a bra cup size shy of a B, was not very “desirable” they claimed.

Chingilingy (Skinny or Lanky)

Hinaa kpor (knotted forehead)

Chofi naabu (Pork/ thick lips/)

These and worse were my names in school. I recall an incident where the leader of the pack, confronted me after a test result showed I had topped the class… again. She twirled in front of me , smacked her curvy backside and declared “ you can get all the top grades you like, but you will always be ugly. This ( running her hands over her 12-year-old curvaceous UK size 12 figure for emphasis) is what men want. This is what makes you a real woman “. At this, the entire class burst into laughter. Afterall it was the only time they could make fun of me. They would even create a ranking list of the prettiest girls in class and put me at the bottom, just to prove their point.

I would go home, sad and confused. I didn’t understand it. The truth was, I never wanted anything but to read and explore knowledge. I wasn’t interested in boys, not then . They were my friends. I didn’t really care about being “pretty” or whatever. I only loved food and books and video games and coding. My life in school was hell, to say the least. But I had another life. My creative life. My life on stage and on television was thriving so I focused on that more and ignored my mates at school.

Then it happened.

We had wrapped up a production shoot one Saturday. While carpooling home, I had engaged in a hot debate about the intelligence levels of girls and boys with my closest friend on the team. It was intense and fun and made everyone laugh at how absurd the argument was getting. Then one of the boys , whom I usually avoided because he annoyed me so much, chipped in “ who cares about intelligence. Girls have to be beautiful and hot. As a handsome guy, I only want to be surrounded by beautiful girls”. (Forgive him. He was 12) As has been the nature of our banter since we met , I sharply responded “ could you please stop talking like you are God’s greatest gift to women since sliced bread?” to which he responded in anger ,“ You! are you a woman? You skinny, ugly and disgusting piece of…” I sat up, shocked to the core at his outburst. The entire bus came down on him yelling at him to shut up. It was the first time my peers had come to my rescue. I kept quiet the rest of the journey, still in shock. Why did he say that? Why? I mean, if everyone was saying that, then It must be true right?

On reaching home, I dashed up the stairs, past my shocked mummy, into the bathroom, bolted the door and sank into a sobbing mess on the floor. I could hear mummy’s voice in between loud sobs “ Solace-Rose Mini sane, gbelemor shinaaa. Ofain3 gbelemor shinaa ( Solace-Rose what happened? Open the door. Please open the door).” She stood behind the door coaxing till I opened up 15 minutes later, my body vibrating with anguish and my eyes bloodshot from all that crying. Mummy was worried. She stepped in, sat on the tub in front of me and asked what happened.

Me: Mummy why did God make me so ugly ? Why am I so skinny? Why am I not beautiful like the other girls?( still sobbing)

I watched as Mummy’s face went from worried…to shocked… to utter disbelief.

Then the most annoyingly funny thing happened. She burst out laughing! Laughing! She laughed so hard, she slipped off the edge of the tub and sat on the floor (so dramatic and so me , lol) almost in tears now. At this point she was really annoying me. Here I was, going through, what I deemed, a serious pre-teen crisis and this woman was laughing at me. Can you imagine?

Mum: Herh Solace-Rose Olu waaaaaa! (Solace-Rose you are so silly) (Still laughing) Ok wait. Who says you are ugly?

Me : Everyone…

Mum: Everyone?

Me: Ok no. Just the girls and boys who don’t like me. They call me terrible names.

Mum: Do I call you ugly? Does Daddy call you that? Do your siblings call you that?

Understanding slowly dawning.

Me: No, they don’t. You love me.

There was no question about that!

Mum: Do you call yourself ugly?

Me: Hmmm No.

Mum: Sweetheart when you possess qualities others admire, it sometimes intimidates them, and they will always find means to undermine you. They will attack you based on societal standards they believe you may subscribe to because most people do. Your confidence and intelligence scares them. Please don’t let them get into your head ok? You are Beautifully and wonderfully made by a Father in heaven who loves you unconditionally and your daddy and I love you so much. You are our special, intelligent beautiful and talkative baby girl ( laughing as she said the last bit while squeezing me tight with a hug and kissing me all over. Yuck!lol!).

Me: hmmm I love you too mummy (Half convinced) and tonight I will pray to God to make me super beautiful.

I declared with determination.

Mum: No dear . I will pray to God , so He opens your eyes to see how beautiful you already are!

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is one of the conversations which changed my life. I woke up days after ,seeing myself in a new light. I hadn’t changed physically. But my perspective had. I stayed the same size (UK size 6–8) throughout my teenage years and early 20’s. I still had the scar on my forehead. I still had a chipped tooth from a bad fall. I was still comparatively skinnier than my mates, but I didn’t care. Over the years I developed a special and healthy love for myself that has lived with me till this day.

With all my experience from travelling in this IMAESC program, that level of self-love and self-appreciation and self-confidence in who I am as a woman and what I think of myself has more than , if anything, been tested and re-affirmed. In countries where I didn’t fit the standard of beauty, where my hair wasn’t straight or curly enough, or long enough. Where my skin wasn’t dark or light enough , where I was too fat or too skinny, I was still beautiful. In cities where people barely looked at me, I still knew I was beautiful and in regions where I was a symbol of stereotypical beauty, I felt no validation whatsoever because my thoughts and feelings had absolutely nothing to do with them and their standards. My beauty is according to me, myself and my God. Good or bad hair day? I am beautiful. Natural hair or weave-on? I am still beautiful. Makeup Glam or barefaced Solace-Rose? I am still beautiful. Whether you think I am beautiful or not, is nothing but your opinion and that is fine. Even if the man I loved didn’t think I fit the standard of beauty he wanted/desired to hang on his arm, whether my forehead was too big or my lips too thick or my lineage too “unrefined” for him, it doesn’t matter. None of it does, because I am still beautiful. I’ll humbly accept your compliments and admiration, but don’t think that it validates me in anyway. It doesn’t. For me , it is simply an acknowledgement of the truth I have known since I was 11; I AM BEAUTIFUL!

It is worth noting , that this level of self-validation was easier for me to achieve because I was born and raised in love and motivation. My parents spoke life into me every day. Knowing that not all have been privileged enough to be nurtured in such an environment, I have endeavoured , every day of my mature life , to speak this same life into most young women , and some men I encounter. Afterall , what is a life-giving/altering gift if you cannot share it with the world? On that note, excuse me and let me re-introduce myself. I am Solace-Rose Quartey. I am fearfully and wonderfully moulded. I am beautiful and so are you!

PS: I confronted the young boy about 7 years later and he confessed to having had a crush on me for months. He apparently got mad because I never looked his way and wanted to ‘show’ me I wasn’t all that. I wasn’t flattered in the least but although I forgave his meanness, I haven’t spoken to him since then, although he’s tried to reach out in the past years.