I don’t remember every single thing from my childhood, or even in my teenage years but I remember certain parts. Especially of my teenage years because those memories can’t easily be forgotten. Really not so good memories.
I was already an unhinged teen who got off on the wrong things mostly because I had really low self-esteem. This low self confidence had stemmed from puberty. When I turned ten, I noticed the teeny weeny swell in my breasts and I can’t remember my exact feelings towards this change. I do remember though that I was touching them most of the time, most especially when I’m absent minded. They were…I don’t even know what I was thinking but I do know they always had my attention. Why though?
Anyway. My Mom noticed this and told me I’m growing some boils. They were the size of peanuts but still noticeable. So one day, I was sitting with a neighbor who was far older and larger (in boobs) than I was. We were watching a movie when she paused it and asked me,
“What are you doing?”
I was confused. I asked her what she meant and she asked why my hands were touching my breast. That was when I even noticed that my hand was there in the first place. I was not even conscious of it. I was actively invested in the movie but I guess my hand had other plans? At that moment, I actively and consciously made the effort to stop fondling.
Fast forward to some days later, girls around began to notice changes I didn’t. And the boys too. The girls were going through the same changes but theirs seemed more vivid than mine. I was always in baggy clothes.
The day I came out to get water from the well with a singlet and shorts, was the day I made some girlfriends. But being teens, we notice the little things and talk about everything. They asked why my breasts were so small. I wasn’t bothered before but when they voiced it, I asked if it was a bad thing.
One replied, “it is o. Your mom’s breasts are huge. Why is yours different?”
So, my teen mind began to worry. Could something be wrong with me? My mother’s breasts are indeed…not a normal size. So… but wait…I turned to the girl,
“You look at my mom’s breasts?”
Laughter was her reply before she replied with,
“Your mother is a woman. A woman endowed. No ordinary human won’t notice these things”.
I felt weird talking to someone about my mother in that light and I’m sure the disgust was imminent on my face. However, when Mom returned from work, I immediately asked why my breasts were tiny. She gave me that look that said, “are you okay?”
I was serious though and asked if I may be handicapped. Mom laughed and said her breasts are as a result of me. She said she never even saw nuts until she turned fourteen. It was when she got pregnant with me that the tangerines metamorphosed to melons. I took that answer and worried no more. But…
I had made new friends. So, I told them what my mom said the following day and they nodded until one said,
“My aunt went through the same thing but grandma gave her a remedy. She put seven seeds of beans into the well and then massaged her breasts with hot tuwo”.
If you’re in Nigeria and know what Tuwo means then you’d understand that “hot tuwo” is almost a suicide. It’s a food famous to Northerners but it’s scalding feature is why it is let to cool before even touched. There are situations it has melted plastics.
My horror knew no bounds. I asked if her breasts survived and she said, “yes naw. And they are very big”. The thing is, I was content with my nuts. Nothing on earth was going to make me engage in such activity. I should melt the peanuts I just got for a slim chance of a bigger one? I’m crazy, I’m not insane.
Few days later, my face broke out. As the months progressed, it got worse to the point it became a subject of concern. I began to withdraw because my face got so rough and once or twice I’ve been called “ugly”. I had this mentality for 9 years. I became less active in church and school because going subjected me to seeing these beautiful girls and that made me feel worse; especially when they would ask why my face was the way it was.
I settled for less over the years. I truly believed that I couldn’t do better and well, it was really bad. One particular moment that marked this stage of my life was when I’d just gotten my period and got my first phone. I’d gotten back from getting some biscuits in which I used a scarf to cover my face when my phone started ringing. It was almost 4pm and it wasn’t Mom calling.
A boy answered and was asking for a David. I didn’t know any David and told him. He said he must have dialed a wrong number to which I agreed. Before I could hang up he said,
“But hey what’s up? Your voice is really cool. Where do you stay?”
I haven’t had such interaction with the opposite gender yet so it was new. I paused and asked why he wanted that information. He replied that any person with such a voice must be really beautiful. He wanted to talk in person.
I told him he shouldn’t bother and ended the call. Then I cried. At that moment, I cried because I wished I had that confidence to meet with him. Not for any other reason than I just had the confidence. That he’d look at me and not change his mind. That I was comfortable in my own skin which I was really not. I stood there, and cried.
But that’s in the past. I got up in 2020 when I decided that I wanted the best out of life. And the best, I determined, was what I was gonna get. My face cleared up in 2019. But I still had a lot of work to do on myself in terms of self-love and acceptance. I am still working on myself. But I am not the girl I used to be back then.
E get as you go do or talk to me wey you go collect. No cap!
