I must confess I dislike writing. My pen shears off a bit of my soul, distilling it into ink and trapping it into paper. But I must write because sometimes, my head is filled to overflowing and I must create space for the new. Because I am forgetting the bad memories, either via suppression or the existence of new horrors.
I shudder to think of it, but as a Nigerian, I have, in all probability, lived close to half of my lifespan — one-third if we’re being optimistic. I have spent the vast majority of this time chasing a degree that I have barely ‘used.’ Ten-year-old me would have assumed that by now I’d be happily married, finishing the first section of residency while dropping off my kids at school. Instead, my head mildly aches, I can feel my looming depression, and my shirt is already soaked as I brave the despair-inducing humidity in Lagos, fighting for a cab by 5:30 AM to get to work. Would that kid be disappointed? Maybe. But, baby Laolu, don’t be angry. Life has happened to all of us, and yet, there is a Dream I am chasing.
I want to be a Great.
The Nigerian faux-humility culture mostly made me suppress this desire, as it was always met with, “You are proud. Pride goes before a fall. You need to pray to God to help you battle the spirit.” While I have subliminally thought about this in one form or another, this is the first time I have clearly spelled it out in words. I do not think of greatness as being tied to monetary achievements (I have never followed or chased money in my life) but rather as being internally and externally unanimously recognized as an individual who does exceptional work.
Ozymandias
Recently, I have been enamored with the concept of immortality and, therefore, define greatness as building something that touches lives — creating a project that “outlives” me. Primus. IMSG scholarship. Dermafricans. Microinsurance. Primary care. But as I grow older, the rocks of my desires are continuously weathered and buffeted by the winds of life. As I have recently discovered, not all my ambitions will be achievable. Nothing I build will be imperishable; instead, I focus on building what I enjoy — things that stretch and excite me. In the long run, I find that these pursuits tend to coincide with what brings money and fulfillment.
However, you must measure these big dreams not just by the grandness of your ambition but by the sacrifices required to achieve them. Are these sacrifices always worth it? Is the risk worth the reward? Is the juice always worth the squeeze? Not all dreams have sufficient marginal utility. Greatness demands sacrifices — going the extra mile beyond what most people even know exists. It is burning the candle at both ends, packing the melting wax and using it to study again. It is coming back from work by 10 PM and immediately going back to the ER by 10:30 to work because that’s where there is power supply. It is going on your knees to read for your exams because you don’t want to sleep. It is sleepless nights, courses, extra gigs, permutations and combinations. It is depression, anxiety, mania, tears, and heartbreak. It is watching your friends progress while wondering if you are wasting your time on those dreams.
Head in the Sand or Eyes to the Sky
A part of me yearns for the safety of ignorance. Thirty years ago, the life most of us have — a roof over our heads, food in our bellies — would have been deemed ‘okay.’ But every day, you go on social media and are bombarded by the progress of your mates in other parts of the world or the Lambos being purchased by people with no discernible source of income in your own part of the world. While I am mostly concerned with the former, this will most likely leave you with two residues: a drive/greed/aspiration to attain what those people have; and a mild, slightly imperceptible resentment for what you have. Maybe that is why God did not want us to eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.
For me, the knowledge of what can be means that the goal keeps shifting — from being a doctor; to being a politician; to working at the WHO; to being a cardiologist; and now, to tackling tougher health problems by building along the health supply chain — maybe building the next Evercare or its parent financing institution. Would it not be easier if we all lived in walled-off bubbles, unaware of what we are missing out on and content with what we have? Perhaps, I would have been happier “just” being a physician.
But the Igbo people have a proverb: when a man says yes, his chi says yes also.
Delusion is the fuel that propels the engine of your soul to do great things. How else can you, a struggling youth from a lower-middle-income background in the actively-retrogressing shithole that is Nigeria, convince yourself that you can do more? You must constantly gaslight yourself into believing there is more to be conquered, more to be experienced, and that your dreams are achievable with the right, smart work. I hold delusion in my left hand and its twin sister, faith, in my right. I subconsciously mutter a prayer that the substance of what I earnestly hope for will become the evidence of what I want to see. And armed with these twin sisters, I go to war for a better life. There is no other way we can bend our chi to our will.
Okonkwo said yes very strongly, so his chi agreed.
My Muslim friends believe in predestination. To a large extent, I don’t. What is the point of life if every outcome has already been seen? Why should we go through the motions of life if the game is rigged? Predestination implies that there is no upward mobility, no reason to fight for something better for myself and my loved ones. I refuse to accept that my chi is fixed and that my destiny is beyond my influence.
Okonkwo had been cast out of his clan like a fish onto a dry, sandy beach, panting. Clearly, his personal god — or chi — was not made for great things. A man could not rise beyond the destiny of his chi. The elders’ saying that if a man said yes, his chi also affirmed, proved untrue. Here was a man whose chi said nay despite his own affirmation.
There are few things I fear as much as trying and failing, so I optimize my efforts to minimize the risk of failure to the barest minimum. I have coerced, forced, pleaded, and dragged my chi toward a distant finish line, and yet, it has sometimes said no. But progress is influenced by both extrinsic and intrinsic factors. I have felt the sting of rejection despite preparation and learned that effort alone does not always guarantee success. Perhaps not all success is predestined. And God has favorites — ones to which we may not necessarily belong.
A Bus Park at 6 AM
Some mornings, I inevitably wake up late, and when I get to the bus stop by 6 AM, I usually mutter a prayer to God to bring an empty bus for me. But while on that bus ride, I realise that for my prayers to be answered by 6 AM when I prayed, God had prepared an empty seat for me by 5:59 AM — before I even prayed. And so I wonder: how many prayers have already been answered before I found the words to ask? Perhaps my real miracle is not that my prayers are heard, but that He accounts for them long before they leave my lips. So I pray, more than anything, for favor, because…
Somehow, Okonkwo could never become as enthusiastic over feasts as most people. He was a good eater and could drink one or two fairly big gourds of palm-wine. But he was always uncomfortable sitting around for days waiting for a feast or recovering from it — he would have been much happier working on his farm.
In my pursuit of an escape, I have become an “addict” — constantly chasing the highs and bracing for the inevitable lows. Heeding my friends’ warnings and constant reminders, I realize there is a lot to be grateful for. Most things have not gone to plan; I have failed on the cusp of success. My mood swings as it likes.
Yet, things are mostly in the general direction I want. Two years ago, I was a weeping, quivering mess navigating pain and Housemanship Between my last birthday and now, I left the hospital and I have not looked back. I am being intellectually challenged. I am working upstairs. Perhaps, for the first time in my life, I can afford what I want for my birthday, if I want it. I am mostly content. I still want more.
The EndGame
In a typically dramatic manner, I must encourage you by drawing your attention to my favorite scene in the history of TV. In Avengers: Endgame, Captain America’s shield is shattered, and his forearm is broken, with a deep gash running along its length. Despite putting up a valiant fight — half of his friends are dead while the others have sacrificed themselves on the warfront — he is the only man standing. And yet, battered and bruised, he straps his shield on his injured arm and nudges himself back to his feet to stare down Thanos and his forces. One man, one million forces. 1% chance, 99% faith. We must fight. We must knock one more time, and perhaps the door will open this time.
We will try again, and we will still fail. But battered, bent, bruised, and broken, we will stand up and try again — for this is no place to die.
Originally published on Medium ↗