“Molo sis Oyama,” her soft and squeaky voice said.

“Molo nana, next time just call me Oyama,” I said with a smile. I replied with a voice full of tenderness and softness so that she doesn’t get hurt by my humble request.

That is my daily correction to my little cousins, my neighbour’s children, and every other child in my community – from pre-schoolers to early teenagers. How many times will I have to correct these kids? And their mothers for side-eyeing them when they address me with just my name?

“Oyama is too old to be called by her name. Respect her and address her as sisi,” the mothers say to their kids. Well, how did we get here?

Not so long ago my bones could barely keep me sitting upright. My mother would put this huge flowered brown blanket around me, creating a nest so I could sit ‘on my own’. I would be there looking like a single egg in a chicken nest. I was not cold or frightened because my mother was there and I trusted her and the blanket to protect me. My mind was programmed to realise that I had no option but for my bones to take me seriously and keep me upright.

Not so long ago I was shuffling through the wooden benches and plastic chairs in my grandmother’s kitchen. I was in my pink rompers, using everyone and everything along the way as my support after a million failed attempts to stand up on my own. When I took my first baby steps I knew very well I had to be patient with myself or else I will fall with gravity. Fortunately, at that time there was always someone. Someone there to remove the chairs, shoes, and any obstacle out of my way. Someone who was always waiting with open arms to catch me when I fall. I’d take everything I see into my mouth. This is what I grew to know as an obligatory mouthing for babies. I was not aware that we are to be mindful of what we take into our system for there is a lot of toxicity flowing in the air. All that rang in my mind was the willingness to explore the world and I made sure to turn up every stone, including literal stones.

Not so long ago I was fascinated by the pink, yellow, purple, blue, and red hair clips and bands as they helped me keep my black, curly, and coarse hair out of my face. I was throwing tantrums, forcing my way out to go and play in the rain wearing my navy rubber boots with red soles. It was a mindful experience that I indulged in subconsciously. I would be out there smelling the fresh mud, splashing the little water ‘dams’ joyfully with my boots, and touching the green flowers still sweating from the rain. I would smile and point at the brightly coloured rainbow with my tiny fingers, mesmerised by its beauty.

Not so long ago I believed my grandma when she said birds might eat me. It was a sunny day, with clear blue skies and I wanted to buy this strawberry ice cream cone. It was my favourite and it melted so sweetly on my tongue. She did not have the money for it and found the quickest excuse and it sure scared the craving away from my taste buds. Who wants to be ravaged by birds?

Not so long ago I got into a tertiary institution. The first thing it whispered into my ear was, “Hey adult, welcome to the real world”. I was confused about who was being addressed, but yes the adult was and will always be definitely me. I used to define adulthood by age. I grew up knowing that people aged 20 are old people and they are supposed to know it all. I mean they have been on this planet long enough. But when my adulthood started at 17 I was troubled! I checked into my residence with my parents by my side. They were the ones carrying my massive beige-coloured, wheeled suitcases. Within the grey zippers were my clothes, books, electrical appliances, and every essential that adults need, to go on with their daily lives. After a few hours of them helping me settle, they left. The stench of independence stained the air when the realisation hit me. I was on my own. No family, no friends yet. I was expected to figure it out on my own. I had to buy myself food, take care of my finances, my wardrobe, my hair, my toiletries, new relationships, my studies, my physical health, my spirituality, my identity, my career, and my biggest struggle – decisions! It was a lot!

I started to feel things so deeply. Not only for myself but for my loved ones too. That sometimes sits on my shoulders like big stones weighing me down, as this life is not always rainbows and butterflies. I started reasoning abstractly and making sound decisions. But that is sometimes clouded by the serial killer named Social Media. He has us thinking we all have one purpose on this Earth when in reality we are different parts of one body.
The environment is noisy with people’s loud voices. They tell you what to do, when to do it and how to do it. They each pull you in their directions, and it’s either you stand firm on your own feet or they break your arms to have a part of you in everything, leaving you broken and incomplete. And that is why we end up as these adults hoping someone will come and fill the void.

But isn’t adulthood meant for you to figure out your journey? Yes, I still have to go to the safe nest my mother created for me. I still have to hold on to the support systems along my journey. I still have to take it one step at a time like cautious baby steps. But I am to find my own journey and it’s a cause I’m willing to sacrifice for.