"Good morning, Uncle."
I heard someone say, I didn't even want to respond, but then I heard that same tiny voice repeat the same thing again. I looked back and saw this very skinny little boy giggling and waving at me. He was acting as if we've known each other since forever. I was just kind of confused. I don't even know him, but aside from that... Who is Uncle? Me🙄.
“And who's Uncle? Do I look like one?” I asked him, while checking him out with my half frowning, half smiling face. I almost cursed at the oversized T-shirt he was wearing. He should be the Uncle.
He scratched his head as if in an examination hall, and suddenly, just as if he had remembered something, he looked up at me with a grin on his face and said, "You are big naw, unlike me, you will soon reach my uncle in school."
I looked at the small tiny boy before me and just decided to be kind to him. "Oh no, common, it's not by size o, I'm still a child like you. Haba na, don't push me into adulthood."
He gave some kind of awkward smile and I did same too. But in all honesty, something had shifted inside of me. I was sure it was just a harmless, normal greeting from the boy's end, but then, it had done something to me. Obviously, times had changed and even I had moved forward.
Sometimes later, I was on my way coming from the field together with my friends. We branched off by a fried yam seller's place on our way. The fried yam was sold inside a nylon. It was one of my favorites.
“Bobo, abeg give me one that’s soft,” my friend said to me.
“You are always asking for the soft one, make I eat the hard and burnt ones? Why don't you buy your own since you like soft things?" I said, teasing him.
He looked at me, smiled, and replied, “Life is hard enough; why should I add more to the wahala on the ground with hard yam?”
And just like that, we all burst out laughing hard while chewing with oil-filled hands. We never knew a day was coming when life itself would test us with those words we had joked with.
And as you would have known, adulthood would never knock or give an invitation. It would just come in like a thief in the night, staring straight into your eyes with bills, responsibilities, and the like. I can vividly remember one evening I had returned from work. I don't like sitting out, but that day, I wasn't my usual self. Furthermore, I decided to sit out to watch people go back and forth in the darkness, and maybe I could get something, maybe a scenario to help lighten up my mood.
I sat down next to my next-door neighbor, and just as if he had been expecting me to have my seat, he looked at me and said, “Guy, you sure say this adulthood na scam like this. Isn't there supposed to be a manual on how best to navigate it"
I nodded, tilted my phone, and sighed. “True talk, bro, we all thought we would have freedom at adulthood, but that freedom is choking us all with house rent, stress, bills, food and all."
He laughed a different kind of laugh that forced me to look at him for the first time after sitting down. He stopped almost immediately and said, “All of us just dey dance, my brother. I always turn, watch my steps and change paths each time I see the landlord coming. How's that different from practicing a dance."
I don't know if that was funny, but I laughed and he joined in too. To be honest now, I believe it wasn't in any way funny. Because you see that rhythm that comes with adulthood wasn't more of a joyful one, but more of a very stormy one. There are times you move very well, balancing things, and there are times you move and stumble or hit your legs almost immediately, but then, you just have to keep on dancing because the music never stops.
Each time I'm home, my brother is always fond of asking me why I'm always serious. I remember vividly one evening like that; I was just sitting alone in the room, he came by, and I didn't act as if I saw him arranging and disarranging every single thing.
The fact that I didn't even act as if I was bothered by all that he was doing made him voiced out, “Bro, but why are you always this carried away and always serious?”
I looked at him and forced a smile, “It's not as if I'm always serious; I just have a lot on my mind to brood on."
“A lot? What's it about?”
I shrugged. “Nothing much, just thinking how to make life better.”
He looked at me as if he didn't hear me clearly. “But you are trying your best; what more do you want to do? You are even always helping people. So, what more?"
That hit me; I became silent as I stared at him. Of a truth, some hard truths often come from the little ones. Even though things aren't the way I wanted, still I give the little I can and I find joy in it. And who knows, maybe, just maybe that's another step in the dance. Even if the dance floor is slippery, we still find meaning in it.
These days, when I walk down my street, I still have a lot of kids who shout while greeting me, all looking bright.
“Uncle, good morning!”
"Uncle, good afternoon!"
“Uncle, good evening!”
"Uncle, welcome!"
"Uncle, what did you buy for us?"
But then, I'm no longer confused like before; I just smile at them each time they do, because now I understand that beyond their respecting me, they are also reminding me that time isn't waiting and that the dance continues.
Discussing with a friend recently.
“Do you remember those times we were still small, and we thought when we grew up, then we would have achieved?"
He looked at me and responded, *“Of course I do, but haven't we achieved—we have our prizes already, just that they come with some packaging, stress, and responsibilities wrapped together.
We laughed. Then he moved nearer. “But you know what? We are still dancing. We danced through school; now we are dancing through work and struggles. I'm even dancing through marriage already, the same way you still find the rhythm and are dancing through all life has thrown your way."
I paused. What a deep one that was. "Maybe that's just it about life. It's a long dance, and you just have to keep on dancing. There are times you step on soft spots, other times on sharp, burning ones. But then we need to keep moving."
He smiled as he added, “...there are times the best dances are the ones we don’t plan.”
And silence followed. We sat down and listened as the night breeze carried a faint music from the next street. I sighed, closed my eyes, and imagined children clapping, some playing, some laughing over some snacks, and some young ones joking and smiling about adulthood, and myself thinking of how to navigate life while learning new moves.
Time itself had taught me to dance.
The truth is, I never get to choose the music/song to dance to, but then, I had learned to move and dance no matter what's on the playlist. Just one step at a time, there are times I stumble, there are times I stand tall, sometimes it's all soft, sometimes it's painful, and at times it's all laughter on the dance floor.
The truth again is we can't avoid the rhythm; the best we could do, maybe knowingly or unknowingly, is to join in, embrace it, and allow each moment, from childhood to adulthood and even beyond, to become part of the dance through time.
Image was generated using AI.
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