The Thing About Choosing Yourself

There will come a day when you realize you simply cannot keep putting up with your parents. 

This is true for everybody, but only a few actually have the guts to do something about it.

Dear reader, let me take you on a journey.

I was born into a fairly well-off family. I was the first of three children. And the only daughter. 

As someone who grew up in a conservative family, my voice was rarely heard. But my brothers? They were the sun and moon in my parents’ eyes. When Ayọmi and Tobi spoke, my parents listened. When I spoke, they corrected. 

My brothers attended a good boarding school. I was placed in a shabby day school close to home. According to my father, “Your aim in life is to marry well.”

At nine years old, I told my mum I wanted to become an engineer and build cars. She laughed. “That’s something I would expect from your brothers. You mean you want to drive cars not build them. Don’t worry, you’ll marry a rich engineer. He’ll buy you plenty.”

At twelve, I took apart a small rechargeable fan to see how it worked. I was severely punished. This time my father said, “I would expect this behavior from your brothers, not you. Why would a girl expect to know how wires work?”

At sixteen, I was chosen to represent my school in a STEM quiz and I brought home the trophy. 

You can already guess the outcome, yes?

My mother had no trouble expressing her views. “All this book ehn. Just don’t forget your cooking skills.”

I despised cooking. And I was definitely not interested in marriage.

What I wanted for sure and certain was to study Mechanical Engineering. I loved the sound of it. The structure. The discipline. The maths.

My parents refused my pleas to write JAMB. 

When I told them my course of choice, my mother looked at me like I said I wanted to become a thief.

She told me, “A girl in a boiler suit. You want grease on your face, you think that’s how you’ll find a husband? I don’t want you to die single.” 

A pathetic tear ran down her face, as if my harmless dream was hurting her greatly.

“You don’t need university,” my father added. “All these won’t matter in your husband’s house.”

My mother nodded vigorously.

I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

But for my Aunty Funkẹ, who intervened, I never would have gotten a chance. 

I passed JAMB with a whopping 305 and went on to study Mechanical Engineering in FUTA.

By the time I was 21, I was halfway through my degree. I was building things, drawing blueprints, and acing my courses. But my parents didn’t give up on their quest to find me a husband. Every phone call turned into an interrogation.

“So no one has approached you? In your whole class, not even one decent boy?”

“You’re always too serious. Engineering won’t warm your bed at night.”

“Look at me. Do you think if I had cared about these things, I would have ended up with your father.”

I wanted to say that I didn’t want to become her. Another version of her. 

But I held back.

I had hoped my hard work would sway my parents, finally make them see things from my perspective. But no such thing was happening. 

And so I longed for the day I would come out from under their wings.

The breaking point came during my industrial training.

I had secured a competitive IT placement at a manufacturing company in Ibadan. One of the top ones, mind you. I was so happy I nearly cried when I got the confirmation email.

I rushed home for the weekend to share the good news.

While I was talking, my mother interrupted me and said, “You will not go.”

Silence.

I blinked. “What?”

You may be wondering why I was shocked. Nothing’s changed.

“Your father and I have been talking. My friend’s son is looking to marry. He has a business in Port Harcourt. You’ll go and meet him this November. All this engineering sounds nice to you, but let’s face reality. You’re a woman.”

My father added, “Marriage has come easily to you now. Take this opportunity and get settled. Stop wasting your time.”

I had never been at such a loss for words. I realised that if I didn’t take action, this life they’ve planned for me would actually become the life I would live. 

I was done keeping quiet. I was done grinning and bearing it. I was done been undermined.

“No,” I said, with enough force and loudness to take both my parents aback. 

“It is decided. You cannot refuse.” My father had a tone of finality.

“I deserve to make decisions about my life because it is MY LIFE. And I will not be marrying anyone’s son anytime soon.”

“Ah, Morenikeji, don’t do this. We are your parents. Listen to us. After everything we’ve done for you, don’t be ungrateful,” my mother said on the verge of tears.

“If you do this, you will be cut off from the family,” my father threatened 

“Good. If that’s what it takes,” I replied and stormed out.

I packed my valuables and left the house that raised me. I didn’t want to bring sorrow to my family, but a relationship with them was definitely not what I needed. I needed myself. 

I went to Ibadan. 

Alone.

I slept on a friend’s floor until I saved enough to rent a room near the factory.

My mother called me everyday for two weeks after I left, begging me to come back and think about my future. Saying I would not make it on the path I had chosen. I was determined to prove her wrong.

I started my IT. I worked hard. I built things. I learned things. I wore grease on my face, and I smiled like I’d won the lottery. Because I had.

Although I had to juggle a job with IT to support myself, it was worth it.

It’s been years now. I’m a certified and well-known engineer. 

I work in different cities. I design prototypes. I lead a small team.

And last month, I bought myself my first car.

Not to drive.

But to take apart and build again. Just like I always wanted.

I haven’t seen my parents since I left home. Sometimes I wonder if they think about that day often. If they finally understood where I was coming from. 

But what I know for sure is:

There comes a day when you realize you cannot keep putting up with your parents.

And the day you finally do something about it is the day your real life begins.

Dear reader, you can break free too.